


Cooking Up Love

by AcademyofShipping



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternative Universe - No Island, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Humor, Light Angst, Romance, Sexual Tension, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-30
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-04 05:25:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5322128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AcademyofShipping/pseuds/AcademyofShipping
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oliver Queen, heir to Queen Consolidated and all the responsibilities that encompasses, only wants to be a chef. His best friend in life, Tommy Merlyn, has the perfect solution: become a chef on a cooking show. There Oliver meets Felicity Smoak, the most horrible cook he has ever met.</p><p>Felicity is deep in debt and her entry level position at Queen Consolidated is barely making a dent in it. Her friend and roommate, Caitlin Snow, decides Felicity could make some extra money (and learn some much needed cooking tips) by being on a cooking show. There Felicity meets Oliver, her future boss.</p><p>As the cameras roll, these two cook, fight, and fall in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Beverages

**Author's Note:**

> This started as a tweet I sent thinking it'd be funny if Olicity had a cooking show. I thought it'd be a little one-shot. Then it turned into a tad more. Enjoy!
> 
> Thank you to @jsevick on tumblr for being a wonderful beta who had great suggestions and made this story better! Also, thank you to @so-caffeinated for connecting us.
> 
> Also, thank you to @victoriaOlicity for making this beautiful poster for the story!
> 
>  

“How drunk was I when I agreed to this?”

 

“Not as drunk as when I convinced you to get that tattoo.”

 

“How are you my best friend?” Oliver asked as he leaned back in the hard, uncomfortable office chair and looked up at the white tiled ceiling of the conference room.

 

“Because you’d get in just as much trouble without me but with no one to bail you out,” Tommy answered with an easy smile.

 

“When you aren’t sitting next to me in the jail cell.”

 

“Exactly. Sometimes you just need someone to keep you company, and I am excellent company.”

 

The air conditioning kicked back on, pushing out freezing recycled air that Oliver tried not to suffocate on. No matter what office he was in, Oliver had difficulty breathing the same stuffy air all corporations pushed out of their vents that seemed, to Oliver, to pacify their workforce. He tugged at his tie and turned his chair toward Tommy.

 

“Tell me again why this is a good idea?” Oliver asked as he pinched his nose.

 

“This show will reinvent your image-“

 

“Ugh. Don’t use that phrase.”

 

“And it will demonstrate that you’re a serious cook with actual skills in the kitchen and not just a bored billionaire. And it’ll prove you can work with anyone.”

 

“All of which I wouldn’t need if my dad would just fork over the capital so I could open up my own restaurant.” Oliver grumbled.

 

He thought that after the four dropped ivy-league colleges and culinary school being the only school Oliver was able to graduate from; his parents would understand that a corporate position would never make him happy. Oliver couldn’t have been more wrong.

 

Robert and Moira Queen still used phrases like ‘family legacy’ and ‘reaching his full potential’ and refused to help Oliver in any endeavor that kept him away from the family empire of Queen Consolidated. It was almost enough for Oliver to change his last name and run away to small rural community in Texas or Rhode Island and open up a diner. Almost.

 

“And you’ll be doing me a favor, keeping me from auditioning know-it-alls who think they’re going to be the next Iron Chef.”

 

“Don’t you still have to audition the other people?”

 

“Nah, just have to make sure they look decent on camera.” Tommy twirled a pen around his fingers and sat back in his chair.

 

Oliver couldn’t help but be envious of his friend, who found the perfect fit for himself at a subsidiary of his family’s business, Merlyn Global. The subsidiary was a production company that produced over a dozen reality shows, but was branching out to cooking shows with Tommy’s most recent brainchild.

 

“And you really think I can teach a bunch of average people to cook?”

 

“It’s just three people at a time and only one dish. That’ll be easy for you,” Tommy said.

 

“Won’t it be easier to teach the same three people, though? Not bring in different people for each show?”

 

“No. We want to showcase you, not some randoms. Besides we want this to be average people. One cooking lesson from you and these people will be on their way to being culinary geniuses.”

 

Oliver rolled his eyes at Tommy’s ass-kissing but pulled himself back up to the conference table.

 

“Fine, I’ll sign the contract. I assume I’ll be getting my own private massage therapist.”

 

“It’s that kind of humor that’s going to make you a star.”

 

\--------------------

 

“Kraft Macaroni and Cheese again?” Caitlin asked. “I mean, I know it’s one of your few safe options but every time it’s your turn to cook it’s either this or Top Ramen.”

 

“I can cook other things,” Felicity said as she set an empty pan on a hot burner.

 

“You can microwave other things; that’s not the same thing. And you forgot to put water in the pan.”

 

Felicity saw Caitlin was right, scrunched her face up, and quickly pulled the pan off the burner. She turned around in their tiny kitchen to the sink and began filling the pan with water.

 

“Mac and cheese and Ramen are two things that are both easy and cheap,” Felicity said. She refused to acknowledge her mistake out loud. “My top two requirements when I cook.”

 

“And they’re the only things you can cook.”

 

“That’s not true.” Felicity was indignant.

 

“I’ve never seen you successfully cook anything else.”

 

Felicity crossed her arms as images of burnt potatoes, frozen meat loaf, and congealed green beans popped up in her head. She shook her head to clear it of all the food disasters that had happened to her.

 

“Just because the kitchen gods haven’t smiled upon me, doesn’t mean I’m not able to cook.”

 

“Do you want to make a bet?” Caitlin asked.

 

“What kind of bet?” Felicity narrowed her eyes at Caitlin.

 

“You cook a meal that doesn’t come from a box tonight. If I can eat it, I’ll never bring up your lack of cooking ability again.”

 

“I like that.”

 

“But if you can’t-”

 

“If the fates conspire against me,” Felicity interrupted.

 

Caitlin smiled and pulled out a folded flyer from the back pocket of her dark wash jeans. Felicity stared at it with unease. When Caitlin refused to relent, Felicity grabbed it at the corners with only two fingers and stared at it. The blank glossy white back stared back at her. She looked back up at Caitlin and attempted to discern the contents of the flyer from Caitlin’s face, to no avail. Felicity finally began to unfold the flyer, ready for any ninja attack it could possibly hold.

 

“A cooking show? Really?” Felicity took a gulp of the wine she had left on the counter next to the blue box of processed starch.

 

“A culinary expert will teach you how to cook one meal. Just one. It’ll be one hour of your life.”

 

“How is me learning how to cook one meal going to help you in the long run?”

 

“You could learn skills that will apply to other meals.”

 

“I don’t want to be on TV.”

 

“Everyone wants to be on TV. And who is going to see it? Plus they pay you $1500. You can’t tell me you couldn’t use a little extra money.”

 

“I don’t know,” Felicity said as she crossed her arms.

 

She inwardly cursed her entry-level position and the just-marginally-above-minimum-wage paycheck that came with it. Felicity was aware she had to pay her dues before she’d be able to move up the corporate ladder within Queen Consolidated, but her job was so boring and her supervisor was so incompetent. She had started compiling a list of improvements she would make if she was her supervisor’s boss. Number one on the list was to fire her supervisor.

 

“Do you not think you can win the bet?”

 

Felicity knew it was a possibility she could cook one edible meal; she just wasn’t sure how probable it was.

 

“What do we even have in our kitchen that I can cook?” Felicity asked flippantly, as she still hoped to get out of the bet.

 

“I was going to make tacos tomorrow, you can make those. That’s easy.”

 

Felicity had her doubts on the easiness of said meal, but realized that if she lost the bet she gained $1500. It wasn’t too bad a deal if she could just shut up her pride.

 

“Fine, you got a deal.”

 

Ninety minutes later, as all the windows in their apartment provided an escape route for the smoke, the two women ate macaroni and cheese on their hard and lumpy couch in their living room.

 

“I think I had too much wine to be able to cook probably.”

 

“You are not drunk,” Caitlin replied.

 

“But my higher brain functions were clearly compromised.”

 

“You’re still signing up for the cooking show. A bet’s a bet.”

 

“They may not even take me,” Felicity said with a crumb of hope in her voice.

 

“Please. They’re just looking for pretty faces. They’ll love you.”

 

\--------------------

 

Felicity knew since she would be working with food, her hair should not be down or coated with as much flammable hairspray as it was; but the hairstylist for the cooking show had insisted. The makeup artist had also insisted on caking her face with at least an inch and a half of makeup, stating the lights would wash her out otherwise. The overall effect was that Felicity looked like a Jessica Rabbit cartoon version of herself. At least no one would be able to recognize her if anyone watched the show.

 

The other two “normal people” were just as made up. So much so, Felicity wouldn’t be surprised if they were mistaken for siblings even though they had started out looking nothing alike. They all wore identical blue aprons with the show’s title, Now You’re Cooking, emblazoned in white on them. From their corner of the set where they sat in director’s chairs, Felicity just managed to see three stainless steel cooking stations beyond the cameras, lights, booms, cords, and at least 35 people all moving quickly around each other shouting technical terms Felicity didn’t understand.

 

Controlled chaos on what Felicity thought looked to be a very generic cooking show.

 

Felicity rubbed her hands over her arms to try to keep herself from shivering.

 

“It’ll be warmer under the lights,” a man said to her as he walked up to the trio.

 

Felicity only just managed not to gape at the size of the man’s arms. She was sure both her arms put together were smaller than one of his.

 

“My name’s Diggle. I operate the center camera. We’re ready for you on set.”

 

He extended his arm out towards the stations in invitation.

 

“Do cameramen usually fetch the guests?” Felicity asked.

 

“No,” Diggle laughed. “I just wanted to warn you about the director, Mr. Lance. His bark is way worse than his bite. Don’t let him scare you.”

 

“Oh, okay,” Felicity replied. “What about the chef?”

 

“He’s a good guy. But he’s filmed 4 other episodes today, so he’s a little crabby now.”

 

“Sounds like this is going to be barrels of fun. I can’t wait for all the excitement to begin.”

 

“You’ll do fine.”

 

Felicity stepped behind the last kitchen station and tugged at her apron. She tried to tell herself that the $1500 was worth an hour of humiliation. Of course, after taxes it’d be less than that, but it would still help her feel more comfortable with her financial situation.

 

“Listen up, folks,” a man with a close buzz cut said, being easily heard over the rest of the crew’s talking. “This is the last episode we’re filming today, let’s not screw it up as bad as the others. You, Normies, just relax and try not to burn the place down. Where’s Queen?”

 

“He’s on his way, Mr. Lance,” a young guy who had intern written all over him said from beyond the cameras.

 

Mr. Lance walked over to a director’s chair behind some monitors and put on some headphones. So much for helpful direction. Felicity guessed the chef would help her more than the director, so she took a calming breath and began to count to five in her head.

 

Once she got to four a door slammed shut hard and Felicity jerked her head up to peer into the blackness of the sound stage but couldn’t make anything out. She crossed her left arm over her body to hold onto her right arm.

 

“So nice of you to join us, Queen. Now we can get started,” Mr. Lance said, and then began talking more production speak to the crew that Felicity only understood a quarter of.

 

Just as she was tuning out Mr. Lance, the chef stepped out of the shadows and onto the stage. Felicity choked on the air she just took in.

 

Queen was Oliver Queen. The Oliver Queen.

 

He was in a plain black t-shirt and jeans, with a matching apron of his own. Felicity suddenly understood every woman that had ever thrown herself at him, even with his playboy reputation. She had never known what sex personified meant until she saw him in the flesh. And what beautiful flesh he had.

 

Then Felicity remembered who she worked for, and she froze.

 

“Action!”

 

\--------------------

 

**Bourbon Chicken***

 

**Ingredients**

2 lbs boneless chicken breasts, cut into bite-size pieces

1 -2 tablespoon olive oil

1 garlic clove, crushed

1/4 teaspoon ginger

3/4 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes

1/4 cup apple juice

1/3 cup light brown sugar

2 tablespoons ketchup

1 tablespoon cider vinegar

1/2 cup water

1/3 cup soy sauce

 

**Directions**

Heat oil in a large skillet.

Add chicken pieces and cook until lightly browned.

Remove chicken.

Add remaining ingredients, heating over medium heat until well mixed and dissolved.

Add chicken and bring to a hard boil.

Reduce heat and simmer for 20 minutes.

Serve over hot rice and ENJOY.

 

It was not Felicity’s fault the dish was going to end up in the hall of fame of her more disastrous meals. She wasn’t allowed to wear her glasses, as apparently glasses caused glares. She told Mr. Lance her glasses had glare resistant coating on them, but he didn’t care. So Felicity could hardly see anything, especially the recipe.

 

Then there was Oliver Queen. Mr. Queen flustered her. Quite simply he was hot., in a he’s-too-sexy-for-his-everything way. She became even more self-conscious about all the makeup and hair product she was wearing. Though most of her agitation was due to Mr. Queen being her boss-well her boss’ son. A son who was set to inherit the family business, so he was her eventual boss. Felicity really didn’t want Mr. Queen to find out he was giving cooking advice to one of his eventual employees. She also did not need her co-workers thinking she was trying to ingratiate herself with the boss’ family.

 

Her inability to maintain eye contact or even form a complete sentence in front of Mr. Queen, which was a rarity never before seen in this world, kept him from helping her too much on the meal. The other two guests gobbled up all of his attention and then some. They couldn’t seem to stop themselves from flirting with Mr. Queen. And Felicity knew the guy had come here with his girlfriend. Unless the guy was attempting a ménage à trois.

 

That thought had distracted Felicity with wondering how everyone kept involved in the activities and didn’t all those legs get in the way--which is what she blamed for the brick-like rice. Felicity was pretty sure that the rice was not supposed to take on the characteristic of a brick. But there it was, on the plate, in a perfect circle. A circle that matched the pan it had miraculously come out of.

 

The real danger though was the chicken. With all those distractions running around in Felicity’s head, she didn’t have time to cook the chicken properly. She was 89 percent certain it was still raw. She couldn’t let Mr. Queen eat it. She couldn’t poison her boss’ son. There was no way she could live off unemployment checks.

 

And it’d be bad to make Mr. Queen sick, too.

 

At least the sauce was okay. If it didn’t have strands of her hair in it. Blonde hair was so hard to see. Especially without her glasses.

 

“So, Felicity,” Mr. Queen said as he walked up to her station. Her name was written on the cabinet facing away from the camera. “How’d you manage?”

 

She pressed her lips together and did her best not to glare at him.

 

“Can’t you see the evidence of my spectacular catastrophe in front of us?” Felicity asked, and then immediately slapped her hands over her mouth. What she wouldn’t do for a brain-to-mouth filter.

 

Mr. Queen smiled down at her. His broad shoulders and model good looks were trying to encourage dirty thoughts, but she could not let those thoughts escape her brain. Especially on camera. Or to her eventual boss. Felicity mentally slapped herself and turned back to the thing people were calling food.

 

“What do you think went wrong?” Mr. Queen asked, his voice soft. He grabbed a fork and tried to stab the rice.

 

“Don’t eat the chicken!” Felicity blurted out too loud. Quieter, she added, “It’s not cooked thoroughly.”

 

Mr. Queen’s eyebrows shot up, surprised. Barely a second later he composed himself and said, “Thank you for the warning. That’s a good message for our viewers that they should never consume undercooked meat. Chicken should reach 165 degrees before eating.”

 

Felicity was thankful how quickly he went into TV host mode and saved her some embarrassment. Like she had purposefully ruined the meal to be a cautionary example to the viewers.

 

“The sauce is probably okay,” Felicity said. Her cheeks felt like they would never stop blushing. At least then she would save some money on blush.

 

“All right, let’s try that.”

 

Mr. Queen took a small spoonful of sauce. Felicity became fascinated with watching his lips surround the spoon. She was thrown out of her daydream of his lips elsewhere when his eyes began to water and he coughed and sputtered. Mr. Queen quickly took a large gulp of water.

 

“Felicity, how much garlic did you use?”

 

“One thing of garlic,” Felicity answered, unsure. “Just like the recipe said to.”

 

“When you say one thing of garlic, do you mean one clove or one bulb?”

 

“Uh, what’s the difference?”

 

“Okay,” Mr. Queen choked out. “That’s all we have time for today. Join us next week when I’ll say, Now You’re Cooking.”

 

Mr. Queen held a fake smile to the camera that looked nothing like the smile he had for her when she accidentally babbled. Disappointment spread through Felicity, though she didn’t know why. She had never cared what anyone had thought of her cooking before this. Why did she care so much now?

 

“Cut!” Mr. Lance screamed. “Great. Let’s wrap this up and get out of here.”

 

Mr. Queen looked down at Felicity one more time before gulping down more water. She dodged around him, ignored the snickers from the other guests, and headed out to the dressing rooms. Once in her shared one, Felicity tore off her apron and grabbed her purse. No one stopped her as she sped out the front door.


	2. Appetizers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The show make some changes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, thank you to @victoriaOlicity for making this beautiful poster for the story!

“What do you mean you’re changing the format, Tommy?”

 

“Listen, buddy, you were great,” Tommy said.

 

“Don’t treat me like one of your reality stars, just tell me what’s going on,” Oliver said. He was back in the conference room of Merlyn Global and he couldn’t help but fidget in his chair. His tie was already askew.

 

“After looking at the footage we shot so far, it was clear that having three different--what did Lance call them? Normies? That having three different Normies for each show was boring and repetitive. We need something exciting. And we want to show you cooking, too.”

 

“So I just wasted an entire day filming garbage?” Oliver bit out. He wondered why he had ever let Tommy talk him into this. It was clear that cooking was never something that was going to happen professionally for Oliver. He sighed and wondered how long he could avoid a leadership position within QC. Maybe he could delay it with a trip around the world.

 

“Not garbage. We found a diamond in the rough.”

 

“Meaning?”

 

“One of the Normies. You and she really popped together and so we’re designing the new format around the two of you.”

 

“How? Which…Normie?”

 

“Her name’s Felicity.”

 

Oliver looked at Tommy with no recognition in Oliver’s eyes.

 

“Blonde.”

 

Oliver shook his head.

 

“The one who used too much garlic and babbled at you.”

 

A blurry, watery-eyed image of a cooking disaster popped up in Oliver’s mind, along with an embarrassed but cute blonde who had hightailed it out of the studio the moment the cameras turned off. If she stuck around longer, he’d have asked for her number.

 

“She’s a horrible cook,” Oliver said as he ran a hand through his hair.

 

“I know! The new format is going to showcase the right-and wrong-way to cook. You’ll both cook the same dish and then try each other’s final product.”

 

Tommy’s eyes were alight with excitement. Oliver could tell Tommy’s smile was genuine but Oliver didn’t understand why.

 

“Why are you trying to poison me? Is this about the Russian model? I can’t help she picked me.”

 

“Oliver-”

 

“I nearly choked on how much garlic this girl used. And if I remember correctly her chicken could have given me salmonella. She can’t even cook rice! This is going to be a disaster.”

 

“It’ll be hilarious. And she’s going to pick up some cooking tips from you.”

 

“My death is not going to be hilarious. It’ll just be a way for you to sweep in the ratings.”

 

“You won’t die, Ollie. And the show will be a ratings success not because of any harm that definitely won’t come to you, but because of the chemistry you and the blonde have.”

 

“Chemistry?” Oliver gave Tommy a skeptical look.

 

“Yes, chemistry. You know? That spark, usually between a man and a woman,” Tommy gave Oliver a suggestive look which Oliver ignored. “Okay, I know it’s not exactly what you were expecting.”

 

“Not at all.”

 

“But this will give you a chance to actually show how good a cook you are to prospective investors.”

 

“I don’t want to do this, Tommy.”

 

“What are you going to do, go be senior vice president of finance and coffee cups and report to your dad? You can’t give up on your dream so easily. It’s one little change.”

 

Oliver was still unconvinced.

 

“Besides, you signed a contract. And the basic premise is the same, so the contract still applies.”

 

Oliver sighed and ran his hand over his face. “You’ll never get that embarrassed woman to agree to the show.”

 

“We’ll see.”

 

\--------------------

 

Felicity stared at the contract that sat at the far end of the coffee table away from her. She read through it three and a half times before the words started swirling around, her brain became mush, and Felicity wasn’t sure if she understood the written word anymore.

 

Caitlyn came into the room and handed Felicity a mug of hot chocolate overflowing with mini-marshmallows. Felicity took a careful sip but still managed to burn her lip. She set the mug down to let the liquid cool and several marshmallows tumbled out onto the table.

 

“I think you should do it.”

 

“Caitlin,” Felicity said in warning.

 

“Listen, you know it’s the smart thing to do.”

 

“I do?”

 

“Yes,” Caitlin said. “With one season you could pay off your student loan and car loan, with a little extra to spare. This would make you more comfortable, financially.”

 

“I know that. And it’s tempting.”

 

“But?”

 

Felicity turned to her side and tucked her legs underneath her. She ran her hand back and forth on the soft material of her yoga pants and let out a breath she had been holding.

 

“He’s my boss.”

 

“Oh, that.”

 

“Yes, that,” Felicity said.

 

“But he’s really not your boss.”

 

“He’s my boss’s son. He will become my boss someday. Provided I still work at QC when he takes over. And if I am, if he ever recognizes me as the idiot who almost poisoned him, he’ll fire me.”

 

“Oliver Queen won’t fire you for not being able to cook. I think you’re looking for reasons not to do this show.”

 

“I’m not. People will talk. My coworkers will definitely talk about it. And if I’m ever able to get ahead in QC, provided Mr. Queen doesn’t fire me, people will think I did because of this stupid show.”

 

Caitlin narrowed her eyes at Felicity.

 

“No one will think that. Especially once they see your lack of skills in the kitchen.”

 

“That’s the other thing,” Felicity said.

 

“What other thing?” Caitlin asked.

 

Felicity turned away from Caitlin and picked up a handful of marshmallows from the coffee table and put them in her mouth. She realized she put too many in her mouth at once as the sponginess of the marshmallows tried to fight back. Felicity glanced over at Caitlin and saw her raised eyebrows and crossed arms. Caitlin wasn’t dropping Felicity’s last comment.

 

“Fine,” Felicity said after she gulped down the marshmallows with some hot chocolate. “It was embarrassing. Having my cooking failure on display and Mr. Queen forced to taste it with all those cameras pointed at me. I wanted to run away but I couldn’t until they stopped filming. I can’t imagine doing that all day for who knows how long the show will run.”

 

“So make some stipulations.”

 

“Like what? I never actually cook?”

 

“Like, you’ll only film one episode a week. That’ll make sure you don’t work yourself too much into a frenzy.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“And only agree to do one season. Thirteen episodes will give you an idea if you’ll want to keep doing the show or not.”

 

“Only doing one season would give me all the money I would need to cover my loans.”

 

“Precisely,” Caitlin said.

 

Felicity tilted her head and considered those limitations. It would make it easier for her if she didn’t have to spend all day attempting to cook. And it would only be one day a week for 13 weeks. One day a week of embarrassment and possibly being introduced to the fire department volunteers if her cooking remained horrible and dangerous. The odds of Mr. Queen discovering she worked at QC were slim. Robert Queen didn’t even know her. And the money would really help her.

 

“All right, I’ll see what they say to my stipulations.”

 

“Yay. My roommate is going to be a TV star!”

 

“Ha!” Felicity responded in a dry tone. “Exactly what I’ve always wanted.”

 

“And maybe Oliver Queen will actually be able to teach you something about cooking.”

 

“I don’t think anyone, including Mr. Queen, is that good of a cook.”

 

\--------------------

 

“This is your own dressing room,” Diggle said as he ushered into the small room from the cramped hallway. “The head of costumes hung some outfits for you to choose from. You might remember that hair and makeup is right next door. We’ll start shooting in about an hour. Any questions?”

 

“Yes,” Felicity answered. “But none that I can remember right now.”

 

“That’s okay. Normally we’d sit down with you and discuss things in more detail, but the change in the show has caused us to rush. Come find me if you think of your questions or if you need anything.”

 

“Thank you, Diggle.” Felicity responded. “Are you sure you’re a cameraman and not some behind-the-scenes calming guru?”

 

“I’m actually a producer. But I started out as a cameraman. Whenever we start filming a new show, I like to get back to my roots to see its potential. I’m the one who actually first suggested bringing you on permanently.”

 

“So I have you to blame when everything becomes a disaster?”

 

“I have a feeling this is going to be great.”

 

“You say that now before I’ve burned down anything.”

 

She turned around to view her dressing room filled with drab colored furniture. Her mother would have been appalled at the lack of color.

 

“Oh, I should probably warn you,” Diggle said. Felicity turned back around to face him. “The other producers found out your last name.”

 

“Okay?”

 

“When we were in meetings about the show’s new title.”

 

“Oh-OH! It’s a smoke pun, isn’t it?”

 

“Yeah,” Diggle answered. His face hinted at his guilt.

 

“Just tell me. Rip the proverbial bandaid off. Oh god. Unless it’s Up In Smoak. Because that is a double entendre that I really don’t need following me around for the rest of my life.”

 

Diggle gave a warm laugh.

 

“No, I vetoed that one. It’s now Trial by Smoak.”

 

He nodded toward the green apron hanging on the wardrobe rack. Felicity took it off the hanger and saw, in red bold letters, the new title of the show with an image of fire that surrounded the letter O. Of course. Her cooking would be a trial. A trial for her to cook and a trial for Mr. Queen to eat. Why couldn’t she have a nice normal name like Jones?

 

“I’ll let you get ready. Hair and makeup will want you soon.”

 

Felicity spun around to face Diggle before he left.

 

“I want my hair in a ponytail,” Felicity said in a stern tone. “And about half as much makeup as I was wearing the other day.”

 

“I’ll let them know.”

 

“And I’m wearing my glasses. I’m not fumbling around blind like last time.”

 

“Okay,” Diggle said with a smile. He walked out and closed the door.

 

“Thank you,” Felicity said to the closed door after a moment. She stared down at the apron and wondered for the 41st time what she had agreed to.

 

\--------------------

 

“Here.”

 

“What’s this?” Oliver asked as he took the sheet Tommy was handing to him.

 

“A list of possible catch phrases for you to use after you try her cooking.”

 

Oliver read down the list as they walked to the set. His frown deepened the further he read.

 

“These are mean. Way too mean.”

 

“They’re fine,” Tommy responded. “The writers had so much fun writing them. I had a hard time stopping them.”

 

“’This dish is DOA?’ ‘This dish fires you?’ ‘Call the haz-mat team?’ Tommy, I’m not saying any of these.”

 

“Just pick the nicest one. Now remember: you’re charming and funny. And don’t be afraid to flash your dimples or flex a bicep every now and then.”

 

“Tommy,” Oliver said in warning.

 

“Go get ‘em.”

 

Oliver finished tying his apron around his waist, wondered if anyone knew they spelled smoke wrong, and walked up to the kitchen set.

 

He wouldn’t admit it to Tommy, but he was a little nervous. His previous encounters with cameras proved they were not his friends. His father would love a reason to yank him back to QC.

 

Oliver just needed a chance to prove himself as a chef. Just one chance.

 

“Seriously? Chicken again?”

 

Oliver couldn’t control the chuckle that escaped his lips when he heard the blonde whisper-scream to no one. Oliver walked up to her on the set.

 

The set looked homier than its original design. With only needing two kitchen stations, they both had more room to move around. The paneling surrounding them was wood instead of metal. It looked like cherry wood, but Oliver knew it was the cheapest wood they could find and painted to look more expensive.

 

He turned his attention back to the woman who would be his co-star.

 

“Felicity? Hi, I’m Oliver Queen.”

 

Felicity spun around at his voice and pulled a red pen out of her mouth. He wasn’t sure why she even had a pen, but then noticed the recipe they would be using today on the counter, marked up so much it looked like it was bleeding.

 

“I know who you are.” Felicity stumbled and her hands flailed around her. “You’re Mr. Queen.”

 

“No. Mr. Queen is my father. Please, call me Oliver.”

 

“Okay,” Felicity said with hesitance. “Oliver.”

 

Oliver couldn’t help but notice the differences in her today. Her hair was back in a ponytail and she wore glasses. Somehow Oliver felt this was more her than when he first met her. He appreciated the change but then realized this was not the time or place to flirt. Or the person. If he did, all of this could end disastrously.

 

This had to be a no flirt zone.

 

“Felicity,” Oliver leaned in and whispered, not that it mattered as they were both mic’d. “Did you notice they spelled smoke wrong?”

 

“Oh, that,” Felicity said with a blush. “It’s actually my last name.”

 

“Your last name is Smoak?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“They made a pun with your last name for the title of the show?” Oliver furrowed his brow.

 

“Apparently.”

 

“Geez, what have we gotten ourselves into, Felicity?”

 

Felicity looked up at him in surprise and then laughed loudly. Oliver smiled back, his dimples blasted straight at her.

 

“All right, people,” Lance, the director, bellowed out to them and the crew. “Let’s get started.”

 

Oliver gave Felicity a parting grin and walked over to his station. So much for a no flirt zone. He glanced down at the recipe and knew it was simple and should be done in approximately 30 minutes. He was sure Felicity would be able to pull this off. At least better than the last time.

 

\--------------------

 

**Chicken Florentine Pasta***

 

**Ingredients**

1 pound penne

Salt

4 whole boneless, skinless chicken breasts, cut into bite-size chunks

Ground pepper

2 tablespoons butter

2 tablespoons olive oil

4 cloves garlic, minced

3/4 cup low-sodium broth, more if needed

3/4 cup dry white wine

1 bag baby spinach

2 cups grape tomatoes, halved lengthwise

4 ounces Parmesan, shaved with a vegetable peeler, plus more for serving

 

**Directions**

Cook the pasta according to package directions in lightly salted water. Drain and set aside.

Sprinkle the chicken with salt and pepper. Heat the butter and olive oil over high heat in a large skillet. Add the chicken chunks in a single layer and do not stir for a minute or two in order to allow the chicken to brown on the first side. Flip the chicken and brown on the other side. Cook until done, and then remove the chicken from the skillet.

Turn the heat to medium. Add the garlic and quickly stir to avoid burning. After about 30 seconds, pour in the broth and wine, stirring to deglaze the skillet. Allow the liquid to bubble up, and then continue cooking until it's reduced by at least half (most of the surface of the liquid should be bubbling at this point).

Turn off the heat. Add the spinach, tomatoes, chicken, cooked pasta and Parmesan shavings to the skillet. Toss to combine; the spinach will wilt as you toss everything.

Add more Parmesan shavings and serve immediately! Serve with extra Parmesan shavings.

 

 

Felicity glared down at Oliver’s perfect looking dish as he presented it to her. If she wasn’t so famished, she would refuse to eat it on principle. It really wasn’t fair to compare their two dishes. Felicity tried to ignore the sweat she felt running down her temple as she looked at her dish. The only good thing about it was she was almost certain it wouldn’t poison Oliver.

 

“Do you want to go first, Felicity?” Oliver asked Felicity.

 

“Sure, might as well eat something while you tell me what all I did wrong.”

 

Felicity reached for her fork and twirled some pasta onto it and then speared a piece of a chicken on the end of it. Of course it tasted perfect, too. Once she swallowed the bite, she took a breath and attempted to be gracious.

 

“It’s wonderful.”

 

“You really like it?”

 

“Yes,” Felicity huffed. “That can’t surprise you with how beautiful the dish came out.”

 

“The two don’t always match.”

 

“Oh, is that what you’re hoping for with my dish?”

 

Oliver gave a breathless laugh but didn’t respond otherwise. She knew she had overcompensated for under cooking the chicken last time, but just because her chicken looked like small charcoal bits didn’t mean the inside wouldn’t taste good. Felicity picked up his dish and continued to eat. Oliver seemed to take the hint and picked up his knife and fork.

 

“Why don’t we start with the chicken?”

 

“Have at it.”

 

“The folks at home will want to remember that it takes 8-10 minutes to cook cubed chicken in a skillet. Not 30.”

 

“It was more like 28.”

 

“And that long in the skillet can lead to this,” Oliver said as he cut into a piece. The chicken disintegrated into charcoal dust. Felicity stabbed a piece of Oliver’s 8-10 minute cooked chicken and scraped her teeth on her fork. She inwardly cursed its moistness.

 

“Let’s move on to the pasta,” Oliver suggested.

 

Oliver struggled to twirl and keep the pasta on his fork.

 

“See, the pasta isn’t stuck together,” Felicity said as she set her shoulders back. “I remembered to put salt in the water before cooking the pasta.”

 

Oliver grunted in a noncommittal sort of way.

 

Felicity scowled. She was pretty sure it wouldn’t kill him to compliment her on what she did right. Once he was able to get a bite into his mouth he seemed to swallow it almost immediately.

 

“So when cooking pasta you want to ensure it’s al dente. Cooking it for too long can lead to mushy pasta. I think overcooking was your downfall with today’s dish.”

 

“Maybe I like mushy pasta,” Felicity said as she set down the near empty plate of Oliver’s dish.

 

“Al dente pasta is actually healthier.”

 

“It’s the same pasta. Same nutritional value. How long you cook it shouldn’t make a difference.”

 

“Mushy pasta can raise your blood sugar levels higher than al dente, actually. I don’t know about you, but I’m very particular about what I put in my body.”

 

“I noticed--I said not noticed, right?” Felicity shut her eyes and mentally counted down from three. When she reopened her eyes she impatiently asked, “Anything else?”

 

Oliver paused, then said, “When shredding Parmesan cheese, you should take care to do it evenly and consistently to avoid these big chunks of cheese.”

 

“I will try to remember that,” Felicity said as she rolled her eyes.

 

“I hate to say this, but,” Oliver sighed. “Felicity, you have failed this chicken.”

 

It took every ounce of Felicity’s control, and clenching her jaw tight, not to gape at Oliver. She was, however, unable to stop herself from glaring at him. She couldn’t believe he said that. There was no reason for him to be that rude.

 

This torture had to be over soon. The only thing she wanted to do was climb into her bed, pull the covers over her head, and never leave her apartment again.

 

Felicity vaguely heard Oliver inviting the audience to watch again next week. The thought of doing this again next week turned her stomach.

 

“Cut! That’s a wrap,” Lance yelled.

 

She started towards the door when Oliver called out to her. She stopped and turned back towards him.

 

“Sorry about the failed the chicken line. Tommy wanted a catch phrase for the show. That was the nicest one the writers came up with.”

 

“Don’t worry about it. I’ve got to go.”

 

“See you next week.”

 

“Yeah,” Felicity said. She turned back around before she said anything else. Like she’d rather get hit by a car so as to avoid doing this ever again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *http://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/ree-drummond/chicken-florentine-pasta-recipe.html
> 
> I'd love to hear what you think.


	3. Breads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The show continues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to @victoriaOlicity for making this beautiful poster for the story!

“Hey, buddy, great show,” Tommy said as he ran up to Oliver and slapped him on the back.

 

Oliver grunted a non-response and continued down the hall to his dressing room with clenched fists. Once inside he gulped down an entire bottle of water to rid his mouth of mushy noodle flavor with a hint of charcoal. He untied his apron, whipped it off, and threw it down on the floor. After plopping down on the couch, Oliver propped his feet up on the coffee table.

 

“Hey,” Tommy said. He snatched the apron up and smoothed it out. Tommy sat down in the chair, the apron across his lap. “The apron did nothing to you but help protect your, well the show’s, beautiful clothes.”

 

“Why couldn’t you have found someone who could actually cook? Or at least someone who had promise?”

 

“She’s way more fun.”

 

“You don’t have to eat her cooking.”

 

“True. But don’t worry, there’s a trash can just off camera if you ever have to vomit.”

 

“Fantastic,” Oliver said as he tilted his head back against the couch. How was him tasting someone else’s inedible mess going to get him his own restaurant?

 

“She could have at least complimented my dish.”

 

“She did.”

 

“Barely. Would it have been that difficult to say it was fantastic and she loved it?”

 

“Oliver, she ate the whole dish.”

 

“Yeah, not sparing one bite for me to rid my mouth of the taste of her cooking.”

 

Before they started filming, Oliver thought Felicity was cute and friendly with a propensity to babble when she got nervous. But as the show progressed she got more irritable and closed off. Almost hostile. It wasn’t his fault her dish was horrible. She could just copy everything he did, but she seemed to actively avoid even glancing in his direction when they cooked. Felicity was infuriating.

 

And not because she wouldn’t stroke his ego. Oliver was sure that had nothing to do with it. Even though he could get any other beautiful woman to follow him around like a lost puppy with one bite of his cooking.

 

“Oh, one more thing,” Tommy said as he stood up and handed the apron back to Oliver. “The catchphrase was good, but remember to include her whole name before you say it.”

 

“What?”

 

“You said, ‘Felicity, you have failed this chicken.’ You need to say, ‘Felicity Smoak, you have failed this chicken,’ or whatever the dish is.”

 

“Are you serious, Tommy?”

 

“It sounds better.”

 

Tommy walked out of Oliver’s dressing room and closed the door. Oliver threw his apron after him. It was going to be a long three months.

 

\--------------------

 

Felicity stepped out of the shower and wrung out her hair. When she got home the smell of smoke had followed her there. Felicity realized it was in her hair and she was forced to shower. She hoped this wasn’t going to be a regular occurrence or the water supply in Starling City was going to drop low.

 

After she was dressed in yoga pants and a t-shirt and towel dried her hair, she sat on her couch and stared at the off TV. Felicity didn’t know how she was supposed to go back to the studio week after week and continue to embarrass herself. She was used to her friends joking about her inability to cook, but these were strangers. Soon to be followed by strangers watching her on TV.

 

For some reason, Oliver’s opinion mattered the most to her. Felicity thought he flirted with her before the show, but she had clearly gotten that wrong, too. When he had smiled at Felicity, her stomach did back flips. Yet, when he incinerated her dish as much as she had her chicken, her stomach dropped like a bowling ball in the gutter. Felicity shouldn’t care what he thought of her; however, she couldn’t stop herself.

 

She blamed his blue eyes. And his dimples. And his biceps. And probably his abs, though she hadn’t seen them yet.

 

“Ah! Not yet. Not ever. I’m not going to see his abs because it’s not a naked cooking show. That would be dangerous. Not only for burns but also because of the distractions it would cause me. Distractions like his abs and his ass. No! Stop it! I’m not thinking about Oliver Queen anymore.”

 

Felicity shook her head at herself. He was just good at something she was terrible at. Which didn’t make any sense. She was an intelligent person, cooking shouldn’t be impossible for her.

 

Felicity reached for her tablet and began a search on cooking tips. When that resulted in more information than she could possibly digest, she narrowed it down to chicken. She would be prepared next week when they sprung chicken on her again.

 

Twenty-seven minutes later, Felicity’s eyes drooped and a yawn escaped her lips. She decided to navigate away from cooking tips to work on a piece of code she said she’d write for a friend from MIT. It wasn’t her fault that cooking was so boring and reading about it was worse.

 

\--------------------

 

**Glam Mac and Cheese***

 

**Ingredients**

3 cups/12oz/340g macaroni

Salt and freshly ground black pepper

1/3 cup/3oz/80g pancetta, diced

1 small handful of fresh thyme leaves

3 scallions, trimmed and finely sliced

2 cups/3 1/2 oz/100g breadcrumbs

1 handful of chopped fresh parsley

CHEESE SAUCE:

3 tbsp/1 1/2 oz/40g butter

5 tbsp/1 1/2oz/40g all-purpose flour

Pinch of ground nutmeg

1 tsp mustard powder

generous 3/4 cup/7fl oz/200ml milk

scant 1 1/4 cup/10fl oz/285 ml heavy cream

7oz/200g dolcelatte or Gorgonzola cheese (if you are not a blue cheese fan a good Cheddar will also suit instead)

4oz/115g Parmesan cheese

 

**Equipment**

Large shallow casserole dish or 4 large ramekins

 

**Directions**

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees F (200 degrees C).

Cook the macaroni in a large pan of boiling salted water. It needs to be cooked to just under what you would normally do, as the pasta will be cooked again in the oven. Drain, then return to the pan and set aside.

Fry the pancetta in a medium skillet over gentle heat until it just starts to brown and crisp up, then add the thyme leaves and scallions and cook for an additional 3 minutes. Remove the skillet from the heat and add its contents to the pasta.

For the sauce, put the butter, flour, nutmeg, and mustard in a small pan set over medium heat and cook until the butter has melted. Mix the milk and cream together in a pitcher and add a little to the flour and butter in the pan, stirring well. Keep adding the milk mixture, bit by bit, stirring well each time. This will prevent the sauce from going lumpy. The temptation is to put all the milk in at once only to find you are left with clumps of flour floating on the surface. Should this happen, take the pan off the heat and whisk it like crazy. This normally does the trick to eliminate all the lumps! Make sure you get the spoon into the "corners" of the pan, as stray mounds of flour often lurk there. Once the sauce has fully come together, turn up the heat and boil for a minute or two. The sauce will thicken considerably, then remove the pan from the heat. Add two-thirds of both of the cheeses to the sauce while it is still hot and combine well. It may be a bit lumpy, but that is fine. Season to taste with salt and pepper and add to the pasta mix. Stir everything together and spoon into a shallow casserole dish or 4 individual large ramekins.

Sprinkle the top with the rest of the cheese and the bread crumbs and bake in the oven for about 20 minutes, or until the cheese starts to bubble and the topping goes crumbly and brown. Sprinkle with chopped parsley and serve while hot.

 

 

Oliver set his hot casserole dish down carefully. Though he was no stranger to kitchen burns, and had the burn scars to prove it, he wasn’t one of those chefs who tried to show how tough he was by being careless. And with Felicity around, he knew he had to be more observant for both of their sakes. It was like having a curious toddler in the kitchen. From his stray observations (he was careful not to gaze too long), Oliver noticed she seemed to get into everything and had no idea how dangerous things were.

 

He plated his cheesy dish and pressed his lips together. He wished again the producers had done their research before selecting this recipe. Since Felicity was Jewish, they weren’t able to use pancetta. Oliver didn’t blame Felicity when she got loud with the producers and Lance. Without the pancetta, the dish wouldn’t have a smoky flavor that made this recipe distinct.

 

Wasn’t asking about dietary restrictions a requirement for cooking shows? Oliver wondered if Felicity had any food allergies. After this morning, he was sure she’d let everyone know if she did. He barely managed to hold in the laugh over Lance’s embarrassment of being yelled at by the tiny woman. Though Oliver admitted, at least to himself, that he would not want to be on the other end of her loud voice.

 

Felicity set her plate down next to Oliver’s to allow the cameras to get a shot of both dishes side-by-side. Oliver tried not to wince at what he saw on her plate. He really hoped the scallops were fully cooked or he might have a need for Tommy’s waste basket. He noticed Felicity couldn’t seem to stop fidgeting.

 

“Felicity, try my dish and tell everyone what you think,” Oliver said.

 

Felicity took a bite and half moaned before she stopped herself.

 

“Good.”

 

“And?”

 

Oliver wanted her to say it was amazing, awesome, and people should have to pay exorbitant amounts of money to eat his food.

 

“It’s better than when I cook Kraft Macaroni and Cheese. Which is one of the very few things I can cook. Just ask my roommate. She is so sick of it. I think she might be worried our insides are going to be permanently stained orange.”

 

Oliver second guessed his hearing when he heard her say his mac and cheese was better than a boxed dinner. Not at all what he wanted it to be compared to. He would have accepted it being compared to a cozy night by the fire or heaven. Felicity compared his dish to shitty tasting cardboard.

 

“Let’s look at your dish, Felicity.”

 

Oliver took a fork and stirred the food on the plate. The noodles clicked against his fork.

 

“The scallops are pink. When they are fully cooked they should be milky white or opaque. Cooking time for scallops is 3 to 4 minutes.”

 

“No one has ever trusted me enough to cook seafood.”

 

“Hm. Eating undercooked shellfish can be dangerous, so I’m not going to eat the scallops. If our viewers ever think they have eaten it, they should go to the emergency room.”

 

Felicity’s face reddened and her breathing became shallow. Oliver really didn’t blame her for her anger. Whoever chose this recipe wasn’t thinking.

 

“I’m going to stick to the pasta and cheese.” Oliver navigated his fork around the scallops and scooped up some noodles and breaded cheese. The cheese wasn’t so much breaded as in a soupy mess with some flour chunks. He took a bite and crunched down on the noodles. Felicity grimaced with each crunch.

 

“When baking pasta, you do have to boil the noodles until they’re almost done before putting them in the oven.”

 

“So two steps, instead of just one. I think you’re trying to make cooking more difficult.”

 

“You did say my mac and cheese was better than the boxed dinner you’re used to.”

 

“I’m not sure it’s worth the added time and potential poisoning.”

 

Oliver turned his head toward Felicity slowly and jutted his chin out.

 

“It’s also soupy, so you want to remember to keep the sauce on the stove for a while to allow it to thicken. And, adding your milk a little at a time to the sauce will help dissolve most of the flour chunks.”

 

“How is anyone supposed to remember all of that? Seriously. It’s ridiculous.”

 

“Felicity Smoak, you have failed this macaroni and cheese.”

 

Felicity sighed, though Oliver swore he heard a light growl underneath it. She didn’t have to be so defensive. Felicity wasn’t the one that was almost poisoned. Again. Felicity really had it in for his digestional tract.

 

And with her stinginess with complimentary words about his food, Oliver wasn’t sure he’d ever have his own restaurant.

 

They stared at one another until they were interrupted.

 

“Cut!”

 

Oliver turned towards the crew and yelled, “Who chose this recipe?”

 

The entire crew began denying responsibility when Oliver heard Felicity stomp off the set. Her running off set the moment the cameras stopped rolling was becoming as reliable as her bad cooking. Oliver figured this was a good thing. He wasn’t sure how to make her feel better...

 

He still thought the catchphrase was too mean, though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *http://www.cookingchanneltv.com/recipes/lorraine-pascale/glam-mac-and-cheese.html
> 
> I'd love to hear what you think.


	4. Vegetables

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things heat up between Oliver and Felicity and not necessarily in a good way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to @victoriaOlicity for making this beautiful poster for the story!
> 
>  

**Chapter 4: Vegetables**

 

“Caitlin?”

 

“In here.”

 

Felicity set her things down by the door, took off her shoes, and slid her bare feet across the carpet to the bathroom where Caitlin was. Caitlin was in a knee length black dress and curling her hair. Felicity rubbed her eyes and hoped she didn’t smear her eye makeup.

 

“How’d it go?” Caitlin’s voice was bright and hopeful. Felicity had to squash that immediately.

 

“I almost poisoned my future boss. Again.”

 

“I’m sure it wasn’t that bad.”

 

“Shellfish poisoning is pretty bad, isn’t it?”

 

“Oh, Felicity.”

 

“Once Oliver realizes I work for Queen Consolidated, he is so going to fire me.” Felicity sagged against the doorway.

 

“Really bad, huh? Did he vomit? On camera?”

 

“He didn’t eat any of the shellfish. He noticed it was undercooked by looking at it.”

 

“He knows his stuff, huh?”

 

“One would hope if you graduate from culinary school you know what food is supposed to look like,” Felicity said as she looked down at her fingernails. They had a bunch of bread crumbs underneath them. Gross. Felicity hated cooking.

 

“This is good news, Felicity.”

 

“How?”

 

“You didn’t actually poison him. He didn’t vomit on camera. He’s not going to fire you.”

 

“He was really annoyed.”

 

“He’ll get over it.”

 

“You didn’t see his face. Though he seemed the most upset with whoever picked the recipe.”

 

“See, you’re just taking it too personally. He knows it’s not your fault.”

 

“He was upset with me, too.” Felicity remembered how he launched into his list of what she did wrong. She also remembered how Oliver said that stupid catchphrase. He wasn’t reluctant to say it like he was before. He didn’t skip around while he said it, but he didn’t hold back either.

 

The only thing remotely good about his annoyance with her was it caused Felicity to be annoyed with him. Which, along with her hatred of cooking, allowed her to ignore how cute she thought Oliver was. Words actually came out her mouth, even if she did babble. At least her babble was relevant to cooking and didn’t remark on Oliver’s physical attractiveness. So, half a mark in the win column.

 

“Where are you going all fancy-fancy?” Felicity asked. She needed a change in topic.

 

Caitlin smiled her huge, I’m going to see a boy, smile.

 

“Ronnie is taking me out to dinner. We’re going to a bar later, you should join us.”

 

Felicity laughed.

 

“Thanks, but I don’t want to be your third wheel.”

 

“No, you won’t. It’ll be fun. Please. You should go out, have fun, and make some poor decisions,” After a pause, Caitlin added, “It’ll get your mind off your kitchen troubles.”

 

“Fine. I’ll meet you there.”

 

“Yay! Oh, I better go,” Caitlin said as she moved past Felicity, out of the bathroom and toward the door. “You know Hartley’s? The bar on 6th?”

 

“Yep.”

 

“I’ll text you when we leave the restaurant.”

 

“Okay. See you then.”

 

\-------------------

 

"Why are you bringing your tablet into a bar?”

 

"I want to do some research on bar food."

 

"You're not going to end up cooking food at a bar, Oliver," Tommy said as he opened the door for his friend.

 

"Tommy, at this point you never know. And I think I have some fun ideas for improvements on typical bar food."

 

"Of course you do."

 

The noise from the bar spilled around Oliver as he and Tommy flashed their IDs to the bouncer. Though the bar was full, it wasn’t crammed with people. Which made the bar warm, but not stifling hot.

 

Tommy went to go find a table while Oliver slid into the bar to order a couple of beers and some nachos. Once he was able to flag the bartender down and place his order, Oliver took the beers and searched for Tommy.

 

With the bar not being overly crowded, Oliver was surprised when someone managed to run into him. He deftly held the beers in one hand over his head to avoid any spillage and looked down to the person who bumped into him. His eyes went wide when he saw a blonde with glasses. Namely _his_ blonde with glasses.

 

“Felicity?”

 

“Oliver,” Felicity said as she looked up at him in equal surprise. “Of course it’s you. Who else would I literally bump into? No one. This is exactly my kind of luck. Especially my kind of luck with you. If I’m around you and something -anything- can go wrong, it will.”

 

“It’s okay, Felicity,” Oliver said with an amused grin. “I didn’t spill anything. You?”

 

“No. Though I’m pretty sure I’m going to have a bruise at the point of contact. Are you sure you’re not made of concrete or steel or something? That can’t really be all muscle, can it?”

 

Oliver couldn’t help but chuckle. Her babbling was really cute, especially when it wasn’t in the kitchen, nearly insulting his cooking. He could tell she was embarrassed by it, so he choose to ignore it.

 

“Are you with someone? Would you like to join us?”

 

“Oh, no. I think almost poisoning you for the second time is enough for one day. I’m sorry about that. I don’t mean to keep trying to make you sick. I really am just that incompetent in the kitchen. Ask anybody that knows me.”

 

“It’s fine. I have yet to eat any of your undercooked meat. And today was Tommy’s fault for picking a recipe that wasn’t appropriate.”

 

“Right.”

 

“So, do you want to join us? We can make Tommy pay for his poor decision.” Oliver stood straighter as he waited for her to decide. He wanted Felicity to join them though he couldn’t pinpoint why. Felicity almost poisoned him twice. And when they were cooking she infuriated him more than anyone. Yet, he liked her lighter, less-stressful side. Oliver wondered if he could get her to smile now that they were in an environment made for relaxing and having fun.

 

“I, uh, I’d like to, but I just made excuses to my friend to leave now. I’m actually pretty tired. And I don’t want to tell her and her boyfriend I can’t hang out with them anymore tonight and then hang out with you and Mr. Merlyn. That’d be rude. I mean, I mostly left so Caitlyn and Ronnie could have more alone time, because it was pretty obvious they needed it. But it’d still be rude. So, no. Thank you.”

 

“Okay. Rain check?”

 

“Sure,” Felicity said after a beat and pursed her lips together tight. Oliver was sure she was being careful to limit her answer to one word to avoid the mountain of dialogue that been coming out of her mouth. Drinking must make her talk more.

 

“See you next week.”

 

“Yes, I suppose you will.”

 

Felicity made her way around Oliver and slipped out the door. Oliver watched her walk across the street through the window. He couldn’t help but notice how Felicity didn’t spend any time with him, minus the time she was contractually obligated to be in his presence. And her praise for his cooking, that he seemed to want more than anyone else’s, was short and forced. Felicity Smoak didn’t like him.

 

The realization stung. More than Oliver thought it should considering the short amount of time they had known each other. He knew that if she could get to know him outside the kitchen, Felicity would like him. Probably. He rubbed his neck and sighed, then made his way over to Tommy.

 

“Was that the always delightful Miss Smoak?”

 

“Yes, it was.”

 

Oliver set the beers down hard on the table and his tablet right next to them. He sat down just as the waitress arrived. As she set the plate of nachos down, she knocked down both beers directly onto Oliver’s tablet.

 

“Shit!”

 

Oliver jumped up and tried to clean off the liquid from his tablet with the flimsy bar napkins. He soon realized it was a useless endeavor. He pushed the power button on his tablet and was greeted with a blank screen.

 

“I tried to warn you, buddy,” Tommy said through his laughter.

 

“Shut up.”

 

\--------------------

 

**Fish Tacos***

 

**Ingredients**

1 1/2 pounds mahi-mahi filets

1/4 cup dry white wine

2 tablespoons lime juice

1 teaspoon minced garlic

1 tablespoon vegetable oil

1 lime, quartered

12 small corn tortillas, warmed

Romaine or Iceberg lettuce, shredded, for garnish

Pico de Gallo salsa, for garnish

1 avocado, pitted and cut into thin slices, for garnish

Sour cream or crema, for garnish

 

**Directions**

Pat fish dry and combine in a nonreactive bowl with the white wine, lime juice and garlic. Set aside to marinate about 10 to 15 minutes.

When fish is ready, remove it from the marinade, pat dry, and season with salt and freshly ground black pepper.

Heat oil in a large nonstick frying pan over medium-high heat. When oil shimmers, place fish skin-side down in skillet. Cook until opaque and firm to touch, about 3 minutes per side.

Flake the fish, squeeze one of the lime wedges over the top, and toss to coat. To make a taco, stack 2 tortillas on top of each other and fill with fish, lettuce, salsa, a few avocado slices, and a dollop of sour cream. Repeat to make 6 tacos total.

 

 

If Oliver cleared his throat one more time, Felicity was going to beat him over the head with the very hot frying pan she had just got done using. She knew what he was doing and it had nothing to do with him being sick. What Oliver didn’t realize, apparently, was Felicity refused to cheat. If she messed up, she’d do it all on her own. Though if his amount of throat clearing was equal to how many mistakes she made, this dish was going to taste as well as her previous attempts.

 

Felicity crammed some more Pico di Gallo into her tacos and topped them with a healthy spoonful of sour cream. To her right she heard another cough. She didn’t know what he was complaining about. There was no way he was being poisoned by undercooked fish.

 

She set her plate down on the table closer to the cameras and waited for Oliver to do the same. She never understood why cooking had to take so long. Plus, Felicity was sure he was just plating and not actually cooking anymore. She did not care at all if her food looked pretty. It was all going to be eaten anyway.

 

When Oliver finally set his plate down, he looked over at her dish with just contained disgust. Felicity admitted his food looked beautiful but, in theory, both dishes would taste the same.

 

“Don’t worry, there is no way you’re getting poisoned today,” Felicity said. She was actually proud of herself because she realized they were cooking fish again and she allocated plenty of time to cook it.

 

“Yes, I noticed you cooked the mahi-mahi in your skillet for a while.”

 

Felicity narrowed her eyes at him. With that tone, he was clearly irritated with her. Could he compliment her at all? The fish wasn’t undercooked nor was it a fiery black brick. It was an improvement. He had to see that.

 

“Why don’t I try one of your tacos and see how they’re supposed to taste,” Felicity said in a curt tone as she grabbed a taco. She took a bite and screamed a curse in her head. Everything he made was delicious. This was, of course, the best fish taco she had ever eaten. There was no way she could admit that. Not after all his insults to her cooking.

 

“Not bad.”

 

“Not bad?”

 

“Yeah, it’d make a decent lunch.”

 

“Decent?” Oliver said under his breath as he shook his head and looked up towards the ceiling. Felicity chuckled when she realized Oliver had to be temporarily blind from all the hot and bright lights that hung from the ceiling glaring down at them. When Oliver looked back down he was blinking fast.

 

“Time to try one of your tacos,” Oliver said. Without realizing it Felicity had finished her first taco and grabbed a second. She nodded to keep from talking with her mouth full. “The tortilla is cold.”

 

Felicity gulped down her bite and said, “I warmed them up.”

 

“Probably too long ago with too many tortillas. If you’re warming them in the microwave or the oven, you don’t want to warm more than 5 at a time. I warmed mine up one at a time in an ungreased pan on the stove.”

 

“Special.”

 

“Also remember to wrap them in a wet cloth so as not to dry them out. You seem to have gone overboard on the filling.”

 

“More bang for your buck.”

 

“Or it just drowns out the flavor of your fish.”

 

Oliver finally took a bite. Felicity was sure his chewing took as long as his cooking did.

 

“It’s what I expected, but to make sure I’m going to try the fish by itself.” Oliver set the taco down and pulled a bite of fish out of the taco. He chewed that piece for what felt like, to Felicity, another eternity. She tapped her fingers on the table as she waited for his verdict.

 

“Yeah, it’s overcooked.”

 

“What? It’s not burnt. There is no black charcoal on that fish.”

 

“I didn’t say burnt, I said overcooked. You sacrificed marinating time for more cooking time. When mahi-mahi is overcooked it’s dry and loses its flavor. That’s what happened here. It’s extremely dry and has none of that sweet flavor that mahi-mahi is known for.”

 

“Fine.”

 

“And since you didn’t marinate as long, it doesn’t have much of that flavor to it either. Mahi-Mahi needs to be cooked for about 3 minutes on each side, depending, of course, on thickness.”

 

“Maybe I would have done better if I hadn’t been so distracted by you coughing the whole time. Should you really be cooking if you’re sick?”

 

“You’ve now had almost 3 of my tacos, so I don’t really think you’re worried that I contaminated the food.”

 

Felicity quickly set down the remains of the third taco and frowned.

 

“You also used premade Pico de Gallo.”

 

“It was in the store room. If I wasn’t supposed to use it, why was it there?”

 

“It’s always better to make your own and it’s easy.”

 

Felicity clenched her fist and took a deep breath. She looked up at Oliver and saw a vein in his neck throb.

 

“I wasn’t given a recipe for Pico de Gallo. The crew must have thought premade was good enough.”

 

“Premade Pico de Gallo has a lot of preservatives and other ingredients that aren’t necessary.”

 

“Like what?”

 

“Garlic, for one. This is Mexican food, not Italian. No need to put garlic in everything.”

 

“And if the brand I used is a sponsor of the show, I’m sure they’ll love your ringing endorsement.”

 

“It’s just my opinion.”

 

“So I didn’t screw that part up.”

 

“You did use too much. And your guacamole wasn’t cut evenly.”

 

“You can’t be serious?”

 

“And less sour cream would have been better, too.”

 

“As I have proven, and you have insinuated many times, I am not a professional chef. I did my best today. I didn’t poison you and I followed the recipe I was given.”

 

“Except for the marinating and cooking times.”

 

“You,” Felicity said, as she poked him in his very well defined chest, “are being way too picky and harsh. I’m almost entirely certain you are not contractually obligated to be a jerk. I won’t listen to you go on about my uneven guacamole or my lettuce and tomato not being cut at right angles. Just say your stupid catchphrase and let’s be done with today.”

 

Felicity and Oliver had turned towards each other and standing close. They were both breathing hard and had matching glares.

 

“Felicity Smoak, you have failed this fish taco.”

 

They continued to stare as the silence smothered them and they waited for filming to stop.

 

Finally, Lance said, “Cut.”

 

Both of them charged towards their dressing rooms and whipped their aprons off.

 

“Hold it you two,” Diggle said as he caught up to them. “Let’s have a chat.”

 

\--------------------

 

“What just happened out there,” Diggle said as he pointed towards the set, “can’t happen again.”

 

Felicity, Diggle, and Oliver were in Oliver’s dressing room. Felicity and Oliver both had their arms crossed. They avoided looking at each other, both staring straight ahead at Diggle.

 

“You two are supposed to banter, not fight.”

 

“We weren’t fighting,” Felicity said in a quiet voice. She was looking down at her hands that were fidgeting. She reminded Oliver of a kid who had been sent to the principal’s office. Though, Oliver admitted to himself, it felt very similar.

 

“Your voices were raised and you were insulting each other. It was a fight.”

 

“Please don’t say you’re going to start writing our dialogue,” Oliver said. He knew he would not do well with scripted lines.

 

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” Diggle said. “For now, no yelling. Oliver, stop nitpicking her cooking. She’s doing the best she can. Felicity, don’t be so stingy on the compliments. You know it’s some of the best food you ever tasted.”

 

“Fine,” Felicity said.

 

“Fine.”

 

“You two are worse than my toddler. Apologize.”

 

Felicity turned towards Oliver. Her cheeks were still red, though Oliver suspected it was no longer from anger, but embarrassment.

 

“I’m sorry,” Felicity said. “I shouldn’t have yelled. Or taken everything so personally.”

 

“I’m sorry, too. I- I was a jerk.”

 

They turned back to Diggle and raised their eyebrows. Diggle shook his head.

 

“Why do I have a feeling you two will be the death of me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * http://www.cookingchanneltv.com/recipes/aida-mollenkamp/fish-tacos.html
> 
> I'd love to hear what you think.


	5. Side Dishes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all of your comments and kudos. They mean so much to me.
> 
> Thank you again to @victoriaOlicity for making this beautiful poster for the story! I love it!!!

**Chapter 5: Side Dishes**

 

Felicity stared at her computer screen and shifted in her office chair, which kept sinking lower to the ground, for the umpteenth time. The code she was writing was not being cooperative. Technically, she had not been asked to write this particular piece of code. Yet. But it was only a matter of time before her so-called-supervisor realized there was another problem in the QC software and it needed another patch. It’d be a few days after he tried to fix it himself when her supervisor would eventually assign it to Felicity.

 

She had spent the morning fixing a glitch the new hardware caused on individual computers. Felicity could finish that in a week if she was allowed to go computer to computer and fix it. However, her supervisor made her wait until each employee called to report the issue. Since the problem mostly affected the accounting department, all of their computers were now fixed. Eventually though, Felicity would have to go around to everyone.

 

While she was waiting for employees to notice and report the issue, Felicity worked on the next problem. Or at least stared at her computer while the solution eluded her.

 

It would help if she didn’t keep thinking about the yelling match she and Oliver had. On camera.

 

Felicity didn’t know what she’d been thinking.

 

It helped a little that Oliver seemed equally abashed. Well, maybe not equally, but close to her level of abashment. She wasn’t alone, at least.

 

She cleared her head of the incident and focused back on the code in front of her.

 

Soon after, she heard a familiar voice ask tentatively, “Felicity?”

 

She swung around in her chair and looked up to see Oliver staring down at her.

 

“Oliver! You’re here. At my day job. What are you doing here? I mean it is Queen Consolidated, your family’s company. You have every right to be here. I just mean here. In my cubicle. Not that I own my cubicle. It’s just where I work. During the weekday. Not on Saturdays, when we work on the show. That’s a different place. But you know that…3, 2, 1.”

 

What had started out as a grin on Oliver’s face at the beginning of her babble;had turned into a full on beam by the time Felicity started counting.

 

“I’m having some trouble with my tablet. Your supervisor said you were the one to come and see.”

 

“Of course he did. He hates doing work. Not that you want to trust him with your tablet; there’s a good chance he’d make it worse. Oh, I did not mean to talk crap about my supervisor. Especially to you.”

 

“It’s okay, Felicity. How long have you worked here?”

 

“A couple of years,” Felicity said. She tried to keep her breathing rate under control. Her nightmare was coming true. Not her worst nightmare. Her worst nightmare involved kangaroos and Pinhead from Hellraiser. She should not have watched that movie. But this nightmare was pretty bad, too. Especially because this one was actually coming true.

 

“Why didn’t you tell me you worked for QC?”

 

“Uh, it just seemed like it might create a conflict of interest. But you know now, so that’s out the window. What’s wrong with your tablet?”

 

“Oh, I spilt a beer on it. A couple of beers on it, actually,” Oliver said as he held up the mishandled piece of machinery.

 

“Really?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Because that looks like nacho cheese.”

 

“My bar is in a bad neighborhood where the waitresses don’t care that they spilled beer on your tablet that has all your work on it.”

 

Felicity gave Oliver a doubtful look.

 

“If you could take a look at it, I would really appreciate it.”

 

\--------------------

 

“You do know it is not that difficult to back up your files, right?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Any cloud service will do. Well, not any cloud service. Don’t trust every one of them. But the big name cloud services are generally reliable and most importantly: Easy. To. Use.”

 

“I understand,” Oliver said. He had been sitting in her cubicle for a half hour now as she saved everything off of his tablet. The tablet was done for. But Felicity seemed confident enough about saving his files. He was thankful she was able to do it, but her price seemed to be lecturing him every five minutes about not backing up his files.

 

Oliver liked seeing Felicity in an environment where she was the expert. She was sure of herself and focused. If he was honest with himself, it was a bit of a turn on. Actually, a big turn on.

 

He also couldn’t help but hope that, what he took as dislike for him, was really just her keeping her employment at QC a secret.

 

“Okay,” Felicity said as she twirled around to face him. She held up a drive to his face. “This is a USB flash drive. It has all your files on it. Pictures, documents, music, etc.”

 

“Thank you,” Oliver said. He went to take the drive when she pulled her hand back away from his.

 

“Not so fast. When you get a new tablet insert this into the USB port and download all the files onto it.”

 

“I know how it works.”

 

“If you understood it entirely, you wouldn’t be in this position in the first place.”

 

Felicity gave him a stern look and Oliver put his hand down.

 

“Once all the files are downloaded you will upload them to a cloud service.”

 

“Yes.” He held his hand up again for the flash drive.

 

“Wait. And then you will never spill any beverage on the new tablet.”

 

“Okay.”

 

Felicity’s look became more strict.

 

“Promise me?”

 

“I promise. Now, can I have the flash drive?”

 

“You also promise not to get any more cheese, nacho or otherwise, on the new tablet either.”

 

“I promise that no cheese will come into contact with my new tablet.”

 

“Okay.”

 

Felicity handed Oliver the flash drive in slow motion. Oliver sighed but waited until she placed it into his hands.

 

“Thank you, Felicity.”

 

“You’re welcome.”

 

The two stared at each other for longer than what was socially accepted. Oliver couldn’t seem to pull himself away from her light blue eyes. Oliver almost started to lean in towards her when Felicity suddenly pulled her eyes away and looked around. Oliver cleared his throat and stood awkwardly.

 

“Well, I should probably let you get back to work.”

 

“Yes. Work. Very important.”

 

Oliver turned to leave but turned back.

 

“Felicity?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“My tablet?” Oliver asked as he pointed to the electronic that was still hooked up to her computer.

 

“I’m keeping this.”

 

“You are?”

 

“Yes. You don’t need it and I could possibly use the parts.”

 

“I guess that sounds reasonable.”

 

“And, you don’t deserve it considering the way you treated it,” Felicity said. She tugged at her ear and then added, “Also, I hate to say it, but I really can’t stop myself.”

 

Felicity’s mouth twitched into a small smile.

 

“What’s that?”

 

“Oliver Queen, you have failed this tablet.”

 

Oliver stared at Felicity for half a second and then barked out a laugh. He turned back to the door and waved goodbye to Felicity. Though he was glad to have his files recovered, he wasn’t sure how he felt about Felicity working at QC. Oliver didn’t like those two worlds mixing. He also didn’t know how he felt about her keeping a secret from him.

 

Oliver chose not to think about why he may have almost kissed her.

 

\--------------------

 

“Did you know Felicity works at QC?”

 

“Your Felicity works for your family’s business?”

 

“The show’s Felicity, Tommy.”

 

“No, I didn’t know. Can’t say that I asked though.”

 

Oliver busied himself with tying his apron around his waist. He did appreciate the show cleaning it after every episode. And the green hid any stains the wardrobe department wasn’t able to get off.

 

“She works in IT.”

 

“Hmm. How’d you find out?”

 

“I went to QC to get my tablet fixed.”

 

“Did she fix it?”

 

“It was beyond repair,” Oliver said as he shook his head. “But she got my files off of it.”

 

“So she’s smart.”

 

“Yeah. Saved my files in less than thirty minutes and lectured me about the importance of cloud storage.” Oliver got lost in the memory.

 

“Anything else happen with you two?”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

Tommy wiggled his eyebrows up and down in rapid succession.

 

“No, Tommy. It wouldn’t be appropriate with the show and, especially, with her working at QC.”

 

“You don’t work at QC.”

 

“It’s my family’s business,” Oliver said as he gave Tommy a pointed look.

 

“Buddy, everyone knows you don’t work for your dad. You shouldn’t feel beholden to any corporate rules at QC. And as far as the show, don’t worry about it.”

 

“Tommy, I never said I wanted to do anything with Felicity.”

 

“You didn’t have to.” Tommy gave Oliver a toothy smile and a pat on the back.

 

“It’s an easier recipe today?”

 

“Yes. I don’t want you getting into any more trouble with Diggle. Have a good show.”

 

“Thanks,” Oliver said as Tommy closed his dressing room door.

 

For the past week, Oliver hadn’t been able to draw any conclusions about his feelings for Felicity. He liked her and thought she was attractive. Extremely attractive. He had to remind himself to not stare at her ass the whole time they were filming the show. She was clearly intelligent but had no patience, especially when it came to cooking. And he found himself wanting to spend more time with her. Even if that time involved fighting. Though Oliver had imagined one or two other ways he’d like to spend time with her.

 

He still had no idea if it was a good idea to get involved with her. Or if she even wanted to be involved with, who she must think is, a self-involved brat like him.

 

\--------------------

 

**The Ultimate Omelet***

 

**Ingredients**

1 stick butter

18 eggs (3 per person)

1/2 cup heavy cream

1 tablespoon crushed white peppercorns

1 bunch chives, finely chopped

1 bunch chervil, finely chopped

1 tablespoon sea salt

Roasted mushrooms and watercress, as accompaniment, if desired

 

**Equipment**

1 (9-inch) non-stick saute pan

Heat resistant spatula

4-ounce ladle

Cook's note: The individual omelets (3 eggs) need to be cooked individually.

 

**Directions**

Preheat the oven to 450 degrees F.

To clarify the butter, put it in a small pot over low heat and slowly bring to a simmer. Cook over low heat until the butter separates. When the milk solids fall to the bottom and the golden butter- fat rises to the surface remove from heat. Set aside

Cook's note: I like to clarify the butter because whole butter has milk solids that will burn. This gives your omelette dark spots.

Crack the eggs into a medium mixing bowl and pour in cream. Add pepper and whisk until well incorporated and foamy.

Preheat the pan over medium heat. When the pan is heated, add 2 or 3 tablespoons of clarified butter. Turn the heat down slightly. Using a 4-ounce ladle, add 1 ladle of eggs into the pan. Using a spatula, start stirring quickly.

Cook's note: This is to heat the eggs through so they set like a custard. Keep swirling them around so the eggs aren't in 1 spot long enough to burn.

Once the eggs begin to set, stop stirring. Put the pan in the oven and cook for 1 1/2 minutes. When you remove the omelet from the oven it should still have a soft custard touch.

Sprinkle with chopped herbs, a pinch of sea salt and cracked white pepper.

Cook's note: Using an oven glove to hold the handle, tip the pan sideways and roll the omelet onto a plate with a spatula.

Serve with roasted mushrooms and watercress.

 

 

Oliver and Felicity cooked without speaking to each other. They talked to the camera when prodded by Lance, but they avoided any conversation with each other. It was safer this way. Felicity still had no idea how Oliver felt about her working for QC. Sure, she had been able to help him recover his files, and in the moment, when he was surprised to find her there, he seemed okay with her at his father’s office. But he had all week to contemplate how it was a bad idea, for both of them.

 

And the more she thought about it, Felicity was sure she had just imagined how Oliver had almost kissed her. Her imagination was going to get her into trouble one day.

 

As Felicity was folding her omelet on the plate, she winced when she saw the burnt bottom. She wondered if she had time to start over when Felicity saw Oliver start to plate his omelet. She wondered if it was time to admit she would never be able to cook. This couldn’t go on much longer, could it?

 

Felicity took her plate to the center table and Oliver joined her a few moments later. He looked down at her plate and then back to her and smiled. Felicity couldn’t help but smile back at him. Either because of the ridiculousness that was her cooking or the ridiculousness of his dimples. Possibly both.

 

She looked down to his fluffy yellow, non-burnt omelet and shook her head.

 

“Your omelet looks delicious,” Felicity said. “Not your first rodeo?”

 

“I’ve made a few omelets in my day,” Oliver replied. “Lots of practice.”

 

Oliver shrugged. He was obviously giving Felicity an out.

 

“I’m sure if I made 500 omelets, all of them would be burnt. Though a few would probably be a runny, uncooked mess.”

 

He laughed, though Felicity could tell it was at her joke, not at her cooking. Well, perhaps a little at her cooking, but she admitted to herself there was lots of material to laugh at in regards to her cooking skills, or lack thereof.

 

“I’m going to try, what I’m sure is, your perfect omelet. Do you want a bite before I devour the whole thing?”

 

“No, Felicity. You go right ahead.”

 

“Are you afraid the only good meal I get is from you?”

 

“The thought has crossed my mind. Once or twice.”

 

Felicity laughed as she picked up Oliver’s plate and a fork. She dug into the omelet and took a bite.

 

“I’ve never had an omelet taste this good,” Felicity said. Off of Oliver’s disbelieving look, she added, “No, seriously. I’m not the biggest fan of omelets. I usually prefer French toast or pancakes if I’m indulging in a big breakfast. But I may have changed my mind with your omelet. It’s wonderful.”

 

“Thank you,” Oliver said. His cheeks reddened and he had trouble making eye contact with her. Felicity laughed to herself. All his talk about wanting more compliments about his cooking and now that she gave them, he couldn’t take them.

 

“I’m going to go ahead and try yours now,” Oliver said.

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“Don’t be. I’ll be fine,” Oliver said with a wink.

 

What the hell? A wink should not be that sexy. Winks were generally reserved for uncles and old men trying to flirt with way too young women. From Oliver though, it nearly made Felicity’s knees weak and her insides filled with butterflies. She took a deep breath to steady herself and looked back at him. His strong jaw line and deep blue eyes did nothing to settle the fluttering inside of her.

 

Oliver took a small bite and chewed slowly.

 

“The, uh, filling is good.”

 

“But?”

 

“The mushrooms are excellent.”

 

“Oliver.”

 

“It seems you had the burner on too hot and cooked the eggs faster than needed.”

 

“Too hot?”

 

“Omelets should be cooked on medium heat. Gives time for the omelet to be cooked on both sides, without burning the bottom.”

 

“Makes sense when you explain it.”

 

“Hmm.”

 

Felicity waited. Oliver’s silence filled the sound stage. She looked up at him with raised eyebrows. Oliver set her plate down and avoided her gaze.

 

“Oliver?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Aren’t you going to say it?”

 

“Say what?”

 

“You know what.”

 

“No, I don’t.”

 

“Just say it.”

 

“Are you sure?” Oliver asked as he finally looked at Felicity, questioning her acquiescence.

 

“Yes.”

 

Oliver took a moment and then said in a quiet, almost timid voice, “Felicity Smoak, you have failed this omelet.”

 

“Yeah, I guessed that,” Felicity said as she smiled at his softness.

 

He smiled back at her and she lost herself in his eyes. Almost like she did back at her cubicle in Queen Consolidated, but this time they only forgot their surroundings for a millisecond before they both realized where they were. They both looked up into the camera and smiled.

 

“Cut,” Lance yelled and the crew began speaking to each other and the equipment shut off.

 

“That was good,” Felicity said.

 

“The omelet?”

 

“Well, that too. But I was talking about the show. It didn’t seem so tortuous today.”

 

“Yeah, it was good.”

 

“Except for the part where I cooked and you had to eat a burnt omelet.”

 

“It wasn’t that bad.”

 

They looked at each other again, not saying anything. Felicity didn’t want to stop talking to him, but she didn’t have any way to extend the conversation and the crew expected both of them to leave.

 

“Well,” Felicity said. “I guess I should get going.”

 

“Yeah, me too.”

 

“Okay, well. I’ll see you next week, I guess.”

 

“Next week, sure. Yep.”

 

Felicity walked away and gave an awkward wave to Oliver. He waved back, just as awkwardly. She was bummed. Felicity had finally liked their conversation on camera but she didn’t want it to stop.

 

Now she had to wait a whole week before she could see him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *http://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/tyler-florence/the-ultimate-omelette-recipe.html
> 
> I'd love to hear what you think.


	6. Desserts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver asks Felicity for another favor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your responses. I love hearing your thoughts about the story!
> 
> Have you seen the poster yet? Thank you to @victoriaOlicity for making this beautiful poster for the story!
> 
>  

The late Sunday afternoon sun spilled into Felicity’s living room, as she turned off the TV and stretched her arms and back. She’d just finished watching My Girl Friday and wondered what to occupy herself with next. Typically on a Sunday she’d do her laundry and go grocery shopping, but since it was Labor Day weekend she had Monday off. Felicity decided to put off her usual errands until the next day.

 

Felicity had planned on spending the weekend with Caitlin, watching movies and binge-eating junk food. As she was about to debate the merits of black and white movies with her roommate; Caitlin got a text message from Ronnie inviting her to his family’s cabin for the weekend. Caitlin was packed and out the door before Felicity could ask about the last-minuteness of his invite.

 

A quick yawn escaped Felicity’s lips. She reached for her phone and tried to choose between splurging on pizza or Chinese when her phone chirped at her and a green rectangle slid down from the top. Felicity tapped the message before reading it, startled from the chirp.

 

_Felicity, it’s Oliver. I was hoping you’d do me a favor._

 

She narrowed her eyes at her phone as she read the message several times. Her heart beat faster with every read. Felicity took a deep breath at a failed attempt to calm herself down. Her mind was overwhelmed with all the possibilities of what Oliver wanted. Did he need help with his tablet again? Did he want to prove to all his cooking buddies what a terrible cook she was? Maybe he needed her to pack up her desk at QC because his father was firing her? Perhaps he wanted to make her his sex slave?

 

She cleared her head of the kinky images of the two of them in various positions. She focused on her phone and began to type back a reply.

 

Felicity: _How’d you get my number?_

 

Crap. That sounded harsh. No “hi” or “how are you,” just straight to an accusation. It was a wonder she was able to communicate socially with anyone.

 

Oliver: _Tommy gave it to me. Hope you don’t mind._

 

Felicity: _No, just wondering. What’s up?_

 

Did anyone say what’s up anymore? They had to, right? Felicity was too young to start wondering what the kids were saying nowadays.

 

Oliver: _I need your opinion. Would you mind coming by my place?_

 

Those kinky images surfaced to the forefront of Felicity’s mind again.

 

Felicity: _Your place?_

 

Oliver: _I’d offer to come by yours, but I’m guessing you don’t have the equipment I need._

 

Did he have a sex room? Felicity barraged herself with condemnation. He wasn’t asking to sex her up. She was almost positive his request was entirely innocent.

 

Oliver: _It involves food._

 

See, Felicity told herself, completely innocent. Unless he planned to squirt whipped cream over her body and lick it up slowly. No. Food was not used the first time you had sex with someone. And he wasn’t even asking about sex!

 

Felicity: _I don’t have to cook, do I?_

 

Oliver: _No. :)_

 

Oliver Queen just used an emoji. Felicity wondered if she should prepare for the upcoming apocalypse and how texting with Oliver Queen became her life.

 

Felicity: _OK. When?_

 

Oliver: _20 minutes?_

 

She looked down at her sweats and remembered her lack of makeup and greasy hair she hadn’t washed today.

 

Felicity: _An hour?_

 

Oliver: _Sounds good. I’ll let my doorman know you’re coming._

 

Felicity: _Cool._

 

\--------------------

 

Outside Oliver’s door, Felicity flattened the imaginary wrinkles in her pink dress and then moved on to smooth any stray hair back towards her ponytail. Just as she raised her hand to knock, the door swung open to reveal Oliver. He was in jeans, a heather gray t-shirt, and a black apron spotted with flour. Felicity struggled to catch the breath Oliver stole.

 

“Felicity, you’re here,” Oliver said. He stepped back and gestured for her to enter his penthouse apartment. “Come in.”

 

Felicity walked in and took in the size of his place. She was confident that four of her apartments could fit comfortably in his one. It was sparse and the walls held only a few photographs along with one oversized painting. Felicity was sure the painting was an original and didn’t want to think about how much it cost. She steered her attention back to Oliver who was watching her.

 

“Nice place,” Felicity said. With a smile she added, “Did it come with a minimalist decorator or did you do this all on your own?”

 

“It’s more of an accident. I keep meaning to get more furniture and stuff, but I just haven’t made the time. Thea, my sister, keeps threatening to barge in and decorate in florals.”

 

“Ooh, with lace doilies and pictures of cats?”

 

“That sounds like a nightmare.”

 

“Only if she also includes a bunch of dolls.”

 

“I’m going to start decorating tomorrow.”

 

Felicity laughed and Oliver joined her. She was amazed at how much his face transformed when he smiled. His dimples and shining bright eyes were a heady combination that made Felicity feel light-headed.

 

“So, what’s the big mystery? What favor am I doing?”

 

“Ah, that,” Oliver said as he ushered her into the living room. She sat on the only place available to her in his sparse place, his couch. The softness of his couch sunk her into it, and Felicity doubted if she would ever be able to escape its clutches. She shifted to face the huge TV screen that she was sure had only shown sports.

 

“I need a taste tester.”

 

Felicity looked back at Oliver in surprise.

 

“You? The perfect, expert chef needs a taste tester?”

 

“Ha-ha, yes. I have an interview and need a second opinion.”

 

“An interview? Are you not going to work at Queen Consolidated?”

 

“Not if I can help it, much to the anguish of my father.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Felicity said as she shook her head. “I just always assumed you would be handed the family business once your father retires.”

 

“That’s what everyone thinks. And my father perpetuates that rumor.”

 

“He doesn’t like that you’re a chef?”

 

“He’s still waiting for me to grow up and live up to my family obligation.”

 

“That sucks.”

 

“There are worse things and I haven’t given up on being a chef yet.”

 

“Good for you.”

 

Felicity inwardly cringed at her praise. She was sure she sounded like a proud grandmother or aunt, not a potential girlfriend. Shit. Not girlfriend. Just friend. Potential friend. That was it.

 

“What restaurant is the interview for?” Felicity asked as she tried to direct the conversation back to a topic where she had less potential to sound like an idiot.

 

“Do you know the club Verdant?”

 

“Just that it exists.”

 

“Well they aren’t doing great at getting club-goers to hike to the Glades. They think they might have better luck with foodies who just want to hang out at a bar. So they’re revamping everything.”

 

“So, what kind of food?”

 

“I was thinking it could be your typical bar food you’d find on a happy hour menu, but with a twist. Just a little more upscale.”

 

“Would you get to create the whole menu?”

 

“Yeah. I’d be in charge of the menu and the kitchen.”

 

Felicity saw Oliver’s excitement and nervousness travel through him like an electric current. She hadn’t seen him that enthusiastic about cooking before. Determined and egotistical, yes. But not wanting something so much it led him to the point of self-doubt.

 

“So you want to cook a bunch of food for me, and all I have to do is eat it?”

 

“And tell me if you like it.”

 

“And your friends couldn’t help?”

 

“Tommy would stick up his nose at the idea of bar food. He would only value a five-star restaurant. At least for any job I’m interviewing for.”

 

“I doubt that, but if it leads to me eating a bunch of free food, I’m in.”

 

\--------------------

 

“So,” Felicity said after she tipped her beer bottle back and caught the last few drops in her mouth. “My mother stands up in the middle of the packed lecture hall full of students and parents, in her skin-tight electric blue dress mind you, and asks the dean of the ENTIRE SCHOOL, how he personally is going to protect her 16-year-old baby girl from all the bad things that can happen on campus, without imposing on my fun.”

 

Oliver muffled laughs turned into a howl of laughter. Felicity laughed along with him.

 

“Try as I might, I couldn’t sink lower in the chair and I’m pretty sure I burned off some skin cells from how deep and hot my blush got. All the other freshman snickered at me and it took a whole semester for any of them to approach me after the dean made veiled threats at anyone who might take advantage of any student who was underage. It was horrible. And to this day she doesn’t see what she did wrong.”

 

“All right,” Oliver said. “Being a child genius does have its disadvantages. But there wasn’t a little part of you that was just the teensiest bit proud of what you accomplished?”

 

Felicity gave Oliver a sheepish look and then looked away. “Maybe.”

 

“Um-mm.”

 

“Okay, what’s your most embarrassing story?”

 

“I’m surprised you don’t know. Every stupid thing I’ve done has made the tabloids.”

 

“That cannot be fun. I do seem to recall a story about you peeing on a cop.”

 

Oliver groaned and turned his head up toward the ceiling.

 

“Sorry.”

 

“No,” Oliver said. “It’s okay. I just hate that story and I don’t remember that night at all.”

 

“One would hope you didn’t do that sober.”

 

“That is my one saving grace in that story,” Oliver said. He picked up the half empty plate of fries and offered them to Felicity. “More?”

 

“God, no,” Felicity said. Her stomach was near bursting levels. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to eat again. You’re going to have to roll me out of here.”

 

Oliver smiled. There was a moment of silence where he opened and then closed his mouth several times in a row. Felicity could tell he was trying to say something. It amused her that someone like Oliver Queen could be shy.

 

“Yes?” Felicity asked.

 

“What did you think of the food?”

 

Felicity knew Oliver was hot. That was a basic fact that any scientific, subjective test could prove. But his bashfulness made him cute on top of his already illegal level of hotness, and Felicity felt herself fall a little deeper. She was in trouble and didn’t know how, or even if, she wanted to save herself.

 

“The spicy apricot wings were my favorite. The sweetness and spiciness were perfectly balanced. I could eat those for every meal for the rest of my life and die happy.”

 

Oliver grinned at her and Felicity had difficulty breaking eye contact so she could think clearly. He finally blinked and Felicity turned her head two degrees away from him.

 

“The garlic fries were excellent. I think the nachos had too much sour cream, they overpowered everything else. Though, honestly, I’m not much of a sour cream fan.”

 

Oliver nodded as he reached for his new tablet to make notes. After a couple minutes of him tapping on the screen, Oliver continued to ask her questions.

 

“Do you think the sliders were too greasy?”

 

“No, but I like them messy. Doesn’t everybody? Better than dry.”

 

“That’s true. Do you think the potato skins were too thick? Too much potato?”

 

Felicity tried to remember the first food she ate. “Yeah, a little. But I was just happy to have potato skins. No one serves them anymore.”

 

“That’s why I thought it’d be good to have them on the menu. What do you think of baked croutons on the tables instead of popcorn? There’s a place in New York that does it.”

 

“I like that idea. Might get people to come in just to try it.”

 

“Yeah, that’s the idea.”

 

“You have really good ideas. And the food is amazing. They have to hire you.”

 

“Well it’d be more of a partnership than a strictly employer/employee relationship, so that might make them nervous.”

 

Felicity shook her head. “That’s crazy. You obviously know what you’re talking about. You can cook like no one else I’ve ever met. They’d be lucky to have you.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

Felicity’s eyes caught Oliver’s again and she couldn’t make herself look away. The brightness of his eyes engulfed her and she felt drawn into him. Two weeks ago if someone had asked her if Oliver had any real depth, she would have died from muscle cramps caused by laughing too hard and too long.

 

He seemed to feel the same connection to her as she felt towards him, but Oliver didn’t act on it. He kept tonight platonic and it frustrated Felicity. All night her mind wandered to kissing Oliver, among other things. If she was more certain in his feelings for her she’d kiss him herself, but doubt lingered in her brain. Yes, he sought out her opinion. Yes, he kept smiling at her. And, yes, his eyes seemed to keep traveling between her eyes and her lips. But he had yet to say anything about any feelings he might, or might not, have for her. And Felicity didn’t want to assume anything.

 

Felicity would just have to be happy with being friends with Oliver.

 

That thought led Felicity to turn away from Oliver again. She looked down at her phone and was startled by the lateness, or rather earliness, of the time.

 

“I have to go. I didn’t realize it had gotten so late.”

 

“Right,” Oliver said. His voice was soft and Felicity was almost sure he sounded disappointed. She turned back to him, but his face was blank.

 

“I’ll walk you to your car,” Oliver said as he got up and waited for her to follow him.

 

“You don’t have to do that.”

 

“I want to, Felicity.”

 

“Okay.”

 

Felicity tried to stand up but her full stomach and the man-eating couch worked against her and she fell back into the cushions. Oliver smiled and held out his hand. She glared at it, but realized she wasn’t getting up without his help.

 

She placed her hand in his and the warmth of his hand seemed to spread throughout her body. He pulled up and, quicker than she expected, she was standing up right next to him. She kept her eyes down, afraid to see uncertainty, or worse apathy, in his eyes.

 

Oliver kept her hand in his, and linked their fingers. He took a step towards the door and gently pulled her with him.

 

The elevator ride was quiet but filled with many unsaid things. Felicity struggled not to babble her stream of consciousness. She knew her thoughts of climbing him like a tree, a jungle gym, or other things one would climb, would only make the elevator ride more awkward. Felicity may have been okay if Oliver didn’t keep tracing patterns on the back of her hand with his thumb.

 

In the lobby, Oliver nodded to the doorman who had almost dozed off.

 

The night air was warm with just a touch of coolness to keep it from being muggy. Felicity led the way to her car and fished out her keys from her purse. She was thankful her parking spot had only been a few yards away from Oliver’s front door. A longer walk of silence may have done her in.

 

“This is me.” Felicity indicated her mini cooper.

 

“Okay,” Oliver said as he stepped closer to Felicity, facing her.

 

“I had fun tonight. Thanks for inviting me.”

 

“Thank you for being my taster.”

 

“Anytime.”

 

The staring contest continued and Felicity was sure she would go crazy. His stare was intense and she was frozen in it like a criminal in the crosshairs of a cop’s gun. It was as if her life depended on her maintaining eye contact with him.

 

With severe deliberateness Oliver leaned his face down and grazed his lips against hers. Felicity’s eyes stuttered closed as her heart beat faster and louder than she had ever felt before. She pushed her lips back against his and Oliver kissed her with more fervor.

 

Felicity wrapped her arms around his neck as Oliver brought his arms around her waist and pulled her in closer to him. Oliver wrapped her lower lip between his two and gently sucked. Felicity whimpered and ran her tongue across his upper lip. He groaned and slanted his lips to encompass her whole mouth. His tongue entered Felicity’s mouth and stroked her tongue.

 

She nipped at his lower lip and held onto his shoulders. Oliver pulled back a fraction and placed several closed mouth kisses on her lips. He brought a hand up to the nape of Felicity’s neck and pulled back a fraction more. Oliver stared into her eyes, his lips slightly swollen. Felicity could feel the burn around her own lips from his beard but couldn’t make herself care.

 

“Goodnight, Felicity.”

 

“Goodnight, Oliver.”

 

With a self-restraint Felicity didn’t know she had, she detached herself from Oliver’s arms and walked around to the driver’s side of her car. She managed to sit down, click her seatbelt in place, and start the car with Oliver watching her. She waved as she pulled out of the spot and was happy to see him wave back with a smile.

 

The adrenaline from the kiss caused her body to shake the whole way back to her place. As much as she wanted Oliver to kiss her the whole night, she was now more confused than ever. He had kissed her, but what did it mean? Did it mean anything? If she wasn’t so full she would have stopped to pick up some emergency mint chocolate chip ice cream.

 

\--------------------

 

**Homemade Brownies***

 

**Ingredients**

4 eggs beaten

1 cup butter

4 ounces baking chocolate

1 teaspoon baking powder

2 cups sugar

2 teaspoons vanilla

Dash of salt

1 cup flour

 

**Directions**

Preheat oven at 350 degrees

Melt chocolate and butter

Remove from stove and add rest of ingredients

Stir until well blended

Pour into 9” x 13” pan

Bake for 20 minutes or until a toothpick comes out clean

 

 

The sweet smell of chocolate hung in the air as Oliver pulled out his pan from the oven. He set the pan down on the cooling rack and pulled the ugly puke-green oven mitt off his hand. Oliver told himself for the thousandth time not to look over to Felicity, and for the 750th time he didn’t listen.

 

Her black skirt hugged her perfect ass as Felicity bent down to pull out her own pan. Oliver jerked his head back to his brownies before the image could affect him. He hadn’t texted or called Felicity since Sunday. He had tried, but every time he was about to, his mind blanked out on what to say. Oliver didn’t want to screw this up.

 

Though he had a feeling he might have already.

 

Sunday, Oliver had texted Felicity on impulse. He told himself she wouldn’t respond or, if she did, would respond too late. But she texted him back just minutes after he sent his first text. And Felicity came over to his place and Oliver realized how much he enjoyed being around Felicity. She gave good reviews on his food and encouraged him with his interview.

 

He didn’t want her to leave, but knew it would be better if she did. Oliver didn’t want to rush anything. Not with Felicity. So he walked her down to her car. He hadn’t been able to take his eyes off of her all night, but at her car it became more intense. Kissing Felicity became a necessity.

 

Oliver had always joked about movies portraying “the perfect kiss” and how there was no such thing. His kiss with Felicity had proven him wrong in the best possible way.

 

It had taken all of Oliver’s willpower, and then some, to end the kiss and let her drive away.

 

He began to cut the brownies in rectangles, happy to see the right amount of gooiness. Oliver grabbed the serving platter, took a spatula, and extricated the brownies. Once they were all plated, he took a breath to calm himself and walked to the center table. Felicity was already there, waiting for him.

 

“Hello,” Oliver said with a small smile.

 

“Hi.”

 

Her fingers fidgeted with each other and Oliver was about to laugh when he looked down and noticed his finger and thumb were rubbing back and forth against each other as well.

 

“Did you find baking easier than cooking?” Oliver asked as he tried to get them to focus on the show.

 

“Um, yes? Though take a bite first before you quote me on that.”

 

“They look good, Felicity.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

“For the viewers at home, because of your nut allergy we didn’t use any nuts.”

 

“Yes, that would have been bad. Very bad.”

 

“Always a good idea to try to avoid hospital visits due to cooking errors.”

 

They both gave a high, quiet laugh that everyone could tell was fake. Oliver was sure he saw a camerawoman wince.

 

“Felicity, try mine first.”

 

“I’m only having one. If I go for another, slap my hand away.”

 

“The crew might actually get to eat what we made today.”

 

“Ha, you’re hilarious,” Felicity said as she grabbed a brownie. She took a bite and almost immediately closed her eyes. Her chewing slowed and she let out a moan.

 

Oliver coughed and shifted in his pants.

 

“This is incredible. You know I was kidding when I said I was only having one, right?”

 

“So two?”

 

“Maybe three. Five tops.”

 

Oliver laughed full and loud, and the accompanied smile crinkled his eyes. He told himself kissing Felicity on camera would be a bad thing. It would lead to publicity that neither he, nor Felicity, needed. Then he remembered they had dressing rooms. The show just had to end and they could meet there.

 

“I’m going to try yours,” Oliver said and reached for one of hers.

 

Her brownies looked similar to his. He took a bite and noticed Felicity watching him intently. He slowed down his chewing and winked at her. Felicity sighed and took another bite of brownie. She moaned again. Oliver quickly gulped down his bite.

 

“Your brownie is good.”

 

“It is?” Felicity asked, excited.

 

“It’s a little cakey. I’m guessing your oven was running hot. Also, there are bits of dry flour in the brownie, but you can’t really taste it. Perfectly mixing flour into wet ingredients is difficult and a common mistake.”

 

“But you still like it?”

 

“Yes, you did a good job.”

 

“So?”

 

“So?” Oliver asked Felicity back. He didn’t know what she wanted.

 

“Catchphrase,” Felicity whispered. “Does it apply?”

 

“Oh, right,” Oliver said. He set down the brownie and made a serious face. “Felicity Smoak, you have not failed this brownie.”

 

“Yes,” Felicity said as she pumped her fist into the air in celebration.

 

Her smile threatened to split her face apart. Oliver couldn’t help but smile back, even though his cheeks were sore from all the smiling he had done. He knew she really tried when she cooked and he was glad she finally had a positive result. And not just because he had to eat everything she made. Oliver wanted Felicity to be happy and successful.

 

Oliver barely heard Lance yell cut. He noticed movement in his peripheral vision and leaned down towards Felicity’s ear.

 

“Can I talk to you in my dressing room?”

 

“Uh, sure. Yes,” Felicity said as she nodded several times.

 

He followed her out and tried to ignore the crew’s eyes on them. Oliver had enough going on inside his head, he didn’t need to think about their gossip as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *My own family recipe (really delicious, I highly recommend them).
> 
> I'd love to hear what you think.


	7. Main Dishes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver and Felicity decide where to take their relationship, but will a change in the show decide for them?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank everyone for reading, commenting, and leaving kudos. You've all been amazing. Thank you, thank you, thank you!
> 
> Thank you, again, to @jsevick for being an awesome beta!
> 
> And thank you to @victoriaOlicity for making this beautiful poster for the story! It's brilliant!

Felicity tried not to overthink why Oliver wanted to talk to her in his dressing room. There was a lot of thoughts buzzing inside her head and she focused on ignoring all of them. She became very interested in the blah cream color of the paint in the hallway. Felicity wondered if there was a team of people who researched the exact color the human eye simply ignored.

 

Oliver opened the door to his dressing room and gestured for her to enter ahead of him. Felicity took stiff steps in and wondered if she should sit down on the couch. As Oliver closed the door behind him, she was about to sit when she changed her mind and did an awkward twirl on the spot. Felicity noticed the smile that crossed Oliver’s lips and fought the blush that spread across her face by taking a deep breath.

 

“What did you want to talk about?” Felicity asked. “Does it have something to do with the show? Do you think I cheated today? Because I did not. I made those brownies all by myself. They were actually kind of simple. Mix in a bowl and pour in a pan. I could have mixed better, I suppose.”

 

“I don’t think you cheated. It’s not about the show, actually.”

 

“Oh, okay. You just brought me back here to have your way with me, then?” Felicity joked. “Not that you would do that. Not that I would necessarily be opposed to it, if the images in my brain are anything to go on.”

 

A second passed and Oliver’s smile got bigger. Felicity took in the full meaning of her own words and cringed.

 

“That came out wrong?” Felicity asked as she hoped he would accept her explanation.

 

“I actually wanted to apologize for not contacting you this week,” Oliver said.

 

“Oh, that. It’s fine. I mean I could have called- or texted- you, too.”

 

Felicity had thought about texting Oliver all week, but the internal debate of seeming too needy versus being a strong independent woman who could make the first, or rather second, move left her at a standstill.

 

“I should have called,” Oliver said. “I’m sorry, Felicity.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

“I was also wondering,” Oliver said as he took a few steps closer to Felicity, “if we could go out sometime.”

 

“Like a date?”

 

“Yes, like a date.”

 

“Is that a good idea?” Felicity blurted out. “I mean, I work for your family’s company. And here. We both work here. I’m sure there’s some sexual harassment seminar we’ll have to take here soon.”

 

“I don’t work at QC; that’s not an issue. And Tommy said us dating wouldn’t be a problem for the show.”

 

“You discussed this with Tommy Merlyn?”

 

“More like he discussed it with me.”

 

“Huh,” Felicity responded. She tried to calculate the chances that this was all a dream and she would wake up any moment. On one hand, Oliver freaking Queen was asking her out. On the other hand, her dreams that revolved around Oliver tended to be more dirty and less romantic.  Oliver was definitely being romantic. And cute. Felicity smiled when she noticed he was rubbing his finger and thumb together repeatedly. “Okay.”

 

“Okay?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“You’ll go out with me.”

 

“Yes. Now put those piercing blue eyes away, you’re going to make someone sign away their life savings.”

 

“You have trouble saying no to my eyes?” Oliver asked as his eyes shone brighter.

 

Crap. Why was her worst enemy her mouth? Felicity wondered if she was born with any filter.

 

“I didn’t say that,” Felicity said as she avoided his gaze.

 

“Felicity?”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“Look at me, please?”

 

Felicity paused for a moment as she tried to steel herself before looking into his baby blues. When she did turn her face towards his, Oliver seemed closer to her than before as she had to crane her neck up higher. His pupils nearly took over both of his eyes. Felicity’s breath caught in her throat.

 

Oliver placed both hands on her cheeks, his thumbs stroking back and forth. He stared into her eyes before he leaned down and kissed her. Felicity sighed into his mouth and returned the kiss.

 

His soft lips were in contrast to his rough beard and it made her apply more pressure to his lips. Oliver’s tongue slipped into Felicity’s mouth and she whimpered. She brought her hands up and held onto his biceps. When Oliver scraped his teeth over her lower lip it caused Felicity to scrape her nails against his skin.

 

Oliver growled and led her to the wall a foot behind her. His body covered hers and Felicity’s softness molded to his hardness. Just as he was about to lean down again and continue his assault on Felicity’s lips and brain synapses, there was a knock on the door. He growled again, this time in irritation.

 

Felicity took several deep breaths to catch her breath and slow her racing heart as Oliver stepped away from her and answered the door. Her thoughts were a jumble of how good he was at the kissing thing (and probably other things that evolved from kissing) to how much she really liked him, to their first date, to being caught in a potentially compromising situation.

 

Tommy walked in and smirked at her appearance. Felicity could only guess how disheveled she was.

 

“Glad I caught you two before you left,” Tommy said. His voice was filled with mirth.

 

“What’s going on?” Oliver asked.

 

“Most of the producers want to change the show. They’re not comfortable moving away from reality shows.”

 

“So?” Felicity asked.

 

“They want to make your lives a reality show.”

 

Both Oliver and Felicity jaws’ dropped.

 

“Now, hear me out. You’d still cook, but there would be cameras that document your daily lives as well. We’re thinking of renting out a penthouse suite and having you two live there. That way the cooking segments come up more often. Every day in fact.”

 

“Tommy, no,” Oliver said.

 

“That is not what I signed up for,” Felicity said. Her hands started to shake. They couldn’t make her do this, could they?

 

“Felicity’s right,” Oliver said. “Our contracts are for a cooking show, not a reality show with cameras following us 24/7.”

 

Tommy rubbed his hand over his face.

 

“I knew you two wouldn’t go for it. Look, the producers like you but they’re not sold on the cooking show. We can’t make you do the reality show, though we could sweeten the deal for both of you.”

 

Felicity shook her head vigorously. Oliver gave Tommy a deadpanned stare.

 

“Okay, I figured. So, we aren’t producing any more cooking shows. Today’s show was the last one.”

 

“Wait, what?” Felicity asked.

 

She had never wanted to do the show in the beginning. And after the first few shows Felicity wanted to do it even less. But she had gotten to know Oliver and liked spending time with him. Without the show, she didn’t know what she and Oliver had in common.

 

“Don’t worry,” Tommy said. “This is one of the few scenarios where we have to pay out your contracts. But if you two change your minds about the reality show, let me know.”

 

“Never going to happen, buddy,” Oliver said.

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Tommy said. “The crew is going down to the bar at the corner of Morton and Papp. You two should come.”

 

“Sure,” Oliver said.

 

Felicity nodded.

 

“Good, I’ll see you there.”

 

Tommy slipped out the door. Oliver looked over at Felicity and his eyebrows creased.

 

“You okay?” he asked.

 

“Yeah,” Felicity said. Even she heard the false brightness she forced into her voice. “I’m just going to clean up.”

 

She waved at her apron covered in flour. Felicity hadn’t noticed how dirty it was. She remembered how Oliver had pressed up against her and saw his apron had just as much flour on it. Felicity was sure when they came in his apron had been more or less spotless.

 

“I’ll meet you at the bar?”

 

“Sure,” Oliver said.

 

He reached his arm over to her and squeezed her hand. Felicity squeezed back and then left fast. In her dressing room she tore off her apron and crumbled it into her purse. She figured she could keep it; no one else had any use for it. Not that she would use it, but it was a nice souvenir; a memento of all her cooking disasters and a couple of hot and heavy make out sessions with Oliver Queen.

 

\--------------------

 

As he walked into the bar, Oliver noticed the only people he really knew were Tommy, Diggle, and Lance. And Lance only yelled at him. Diggle had too that one time. Oliver really didn’t know the crew very well. He wouldn’t have stayed but Felicity said she would stop by.

 

He was surprised he was disappointed the show was ending. Oliver didn’t doubt it had more to do with Felicity than enjoying having his own cooking show. Though Oliver’s stomach was probably overjoyed with the fact it no longer had to consume Felicity’s cooking.

 

He was thrilled she had agreed to go on a date with him. Though Oliver didn’t know what made Felicity sprint out of his dressing room.

 

He navigated his way to the bar and ordered a beer. Diggle turned around toward him.

 

“Hey, man,” Diggle said.

 

“Hey.”

 

“You all right with the show ending?”

 

“Yeah. I was never too enthused about the idea. You?”

 

“Sure. I got another show coming down the pipeline. It won’t be as much fun as watching you and Felicity dance around each other, but it’ll pay the bills.”

 

Oliver just shook his head and took a sip of his beer.

 

“You okay with not seeing her anymore?” Diggle asked.

 

“Felicity?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“We worked it out before Tommy broke the news.”

 

“That’s what I figured.”

 

“How did you know I was going to ask her out?” Oliver asked, incredulous.

 

“Let’s just say you were painfully obvious.”

 

“What are we talking about?” Felicity asked as she walked up between Diggle and Oliver. Oliver couldn’t help but notice she had stayed in the tight black skirt.

 

“Nothing,” Oliver said as he sent a pleading look to Diggle.

 

Diggle chuckled and said, “I’m really going to miss you two.”

 

“We’ll stay in contact, right?” Felicity asked Diggle.

 

“Yes, I have your number. We’ll do brunch or something.”

 

“You do brunch?” Oliver asked.

 

“Since becoming a producer, I’ve had to. That’s when all the important production meetings are,” Diggle said. “It’s not all bad. The food is pretty good.”

 

A boom operator or lighting rig guy waved at Diggle. He waved back.

 

“I gotta go check in with my guys,” Diggle said. “I’ll talk to you later.”

 

He gave Oliver a handshake and kissed Felicity on the cheek. Felicity took Diggle’s empty seat next to Oliver and ordered a foofy drink.

 

“Do you know anyone here besides Tommy and Diggle?” Felicity asked in a whisper.

 

“No. I wasn’t aware of how unsocial I was on set until I walked in.”

 

“Me too.”

 

“Hey,” Oliver asked. “You okay about the show?”

 

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be? I don’t have to humiliate myself every week. And I get paid anyway. Bye-bye student loans.”

 

“I wondered why you agreed to do the show.”

 

“My Masters was not cheap,” Felicity said.

 

Silence stretched between them as the bartender set Felicity’s drink down. Felicity took a big gulp and then began shredding her napkin.

 

“Wait,” Felicity said as she turned towards Oliver, “You never told me how your interview went.”

 

“Really well,” Oliver said as he smiled at the thought of it. “I should hear from them this week.”

 

“Did they give you any indication of which way they were leaning? Any subtle wink-winks or nudge-nudges?”

 

“Nothing so subtle,” Oliver said. “They said that if all went well with my credit check and references, the job was mine.”

 

“Yay! That’s exciting! Congratulations.”

 

“Thank you,” Oliver beamed. “So, where do you want to go for our date? You like Italian?”

 

“Our date’s still on?” Felicity asked.

 

“Of course. Why wouldn’t it be? Unless you don’t want to anymore.”

 

Oliver studied Felicity’s face. He hadn’t considered that without the show she may not want to see him anymore. Oliver thought she liked him as much as he liked her, but maybe he was wrong. His breathing became shallower and he felt more pressure behind his ears.

 

“Oh, I do,” Felicity said. “I just wasn’t sure if you did.”

 

A sigh of relief escaped Oliver’s lips before he could think about censoring his reaction.

 

“No, I want to.”

 

“Good.”

 

“Good.”

 

They stared at each other and Oliver swore the noise in the bar faded away. It surprised him how much he liked Felicity. He had never liked a girl this much before. Oliver knew that in the past that would have scared him, but it didn’t now. He trusted Felicity.

 

“Felicity, do you want to get out of here?”

 

“God, yes.”

 

She stood up next to him and Oliver took her hand in his without thought. They snuck away through the crowd and out the door. Oliver had no idea where they were going. There were a lot of places he wanted to take Felicity, Oliver just had to decide where to take her to first.

 

Ideas of places where he had taken other girls surfaced, but he quickly shoved those thoughts away. Felicity was special and she deserved more than his standard seduction techniques. Though she had a way of seeing through all of his bullshit. And Oliver didn’t want Felicity to be just another notch on his bedpost.

 

His feelings for her were real.

 

And vast.

 

And scary.

 

But for the first time, Oliver wasn’t running away from those feelings. He was turning the heat up.

 

Somehow Oliver knew he would enjoy being Smoaked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I'd love to hear what you think.

**Author's Note:**

> *http://www.food.com/recipe/bourbon-chicken-45809
> 
> Please let me know what you think.


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